Careful What You Wish For
by whynotitsfun
Summary: Just because you thought you wanted something doesn't mean you were right. A Nanoless season 3 option I suppose in that it takes place after season 2. Eventual Charloe because I can, but slow burn. As has become my habit of late, there will be an OC... Story is probably a bit OOC. T for now for language. may be M later, maybe not.. Haven't decided yet.
1. This Was What You Wanted

**A/N: The only thing I can really say about this is it will be maybe 10 chapters max, most of them will be fairly short (for me at any rate) and that it assumes that there will be no battles with the Nano—essentially it ignores the entire Nano plot completely other than the fact that the power is out. The beginning takes place about a year or so after the Patriots are defeated (or 2 ½ years after the tower).**

Monroe sat at his desk, whiskey in hand. He watched the amber liquid as it swirled in the glass, contemplating the events of the day. The treaty that Frank Blanchard had sent from Austin still sat in front of him, unopened and unread. He was sure he'd end up signing it, but for the time being he left it alone.

He'd had several reports that had made their way to him earlier in the day, all of them total shit. The harvest from the Southern Annex was poor at best due to the war and disorganization that had existed over the past two and a half years – ever since the bombs had dropped.

With the loss of the coal mines in Pennsylvania because of the fallout zone, they were only left with the ones in the Virginias, which meant that the trains he'd inherited were not running anywhere near capacity. On top of that, the entire Great Lakes region was in rebellion—mostly due to conflict between the locals and the militia.

He downed the contents of his glass and rubbed at his temples in a pathetic attempt to sooth the pressure there. Things would have been a hell of a lot easier if Miles had agreed to come back east with him after the war against the Patriots.

After staring at his empty glass for a while he rose to refill it. He was just setting the decanter down when a knock at the door brought him out of his thoughts. "Hold on," he said as he buttoned his shirt to the collar and rolled his sleeves back down. After all, eleven at night or not, it wouldn't do to be seen completely disheveled by an inferior officer.

"Come!" he ordered after running his fingers through his hair in an attempt to push it back off his forehead. As he waited for the door to open, he made a mental note to send for a barber in the near future. It also wouldn't do to have his constantly unruly curls sticking out everywhere. He had an image to uphold, after all.

Some lieutenant whose name he couldn't quite recall appeared in the doorway. He'd only been assigned to the compound within the past week. The man saluted him and waited at attention. Bass returned the salute and gestured for him to enter. "Sir, a rider from Michigan just arrived. He sent these dispatches."

"Thank you Lieutenant…"

"Harris, sir." The young man reminded him.

"Yes, of course," Monroe responded, distracted. "Dismissed," he said after going through the whole saluting business once more. He was really starting to hate protocol.

When the soldier was gone and the door closed against intrusion once more he picked up the letter on top. Sinking back into his chair he unbuttoned the thick wool uniform shirt. It was so odd; the uniform that he'd so prized long ago was now little more than a scratchy nuisance that he loathed almost as much as saluting and all the "Yes sir, No sir" business.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd heard his actual name. He was starting to miss his name. People who called you by your name were your friends. Since no one used his name, he supposed that meant that now he had no friends, not that he really had any before setting up the capital for the new Republic in Nashville. Not since Miles had written him off again, anyway.

He set the pages down for a second as he shrugged out of the shirt. As an afterthought, he wadded it up and tossed it across the room, watching as it landed a few feet from the wastebasket. _Gotta work on my free throw,_ he thought wryly before turning his attention back to the task at hand.

Picking up the dispatch again, he scanned its contents. "Rebellion in Detroit escalating… Rations low… Civilians refusing to pay taxes… Requesting permission to engage?"

He read portions of the letter aloud as if they would somehow embed better within his already tired mind. When he finished he set the page down and crossed his arms over his desk, resting his head on top of them. The news from the northern portion of his fledgling new nation had done little to help his headache.

Monroe knew damn good and well why the civilians in Detroit were refusing to give the militia the required twenty percent of their crop yield. With a shit growing season in the north and the chaos in the past two years there simply wasn't enough food to go around.

_ What to do?_ If he allowed them to not pay this year, it would make him seem weak and on top of that, it would make it harder to feed the militia soldiers that protected that area of the Republic. However, if he waived the taxes, then they wouldn't starve and maybe (just maybe) the rebellion would simmer down. He'd dealt with that region more harshly the first time around, which was why they hadn't taken the new Republic sitting down in the first place. The lack of food was the fuel that fire had needed to spread.

_Do you know who worries about seeming weak? Weak people…_ Sure, those were noble words, and they were fairly accurate as well- even if the young man that had spoken them didn't really believe in them.

With a frustrated sigh, Monroe sat up, grabbed a sheet of paper and the quill pen on his desk and began to write.

_Col. Andrew Gray, 14__th__ div._

_ Col. Gray,_

_ Your report of the situation in Detroit has been received. Permission to engage is denied. Civilians will be issued the following message: Those choosing to stand down and lay down their arms will receive a temporary reprieve on taxes, to be repaid at ten percent per year over the next ten years._

_ Any militia soldiers caught trying to collect taxes from any household or township that has chosen to cease in rebelling against the Republic will be court marshalled without further warning—and they will be dealt with harshly. The same policy will be enforced throughout all regions affected by the poor harvest._

_ Also, rumors have reached Nashville of issues regarding abuses with the local female population in several regions. Spread the word that these had better be only rumors. Any inappropriate behavior amongst the militia regarding unwilling females (or males for that matter) will result in penalties including but not limited to—loss of pay, court marshal and/or hard labor. _

_ I hope that I have made myself very clear on the matter. In other words: Keep your men in check. If they've got time to harass the ladies, I can find other ways for them to be useful to the Republic and earn their pay and their families' crop shares. Now that this has been formally addressed, be advised that I will hold commanding officers responsible for the behavior of their men as well._

_ Regards, etc._

_ President-General S. Monroe_

Monroe set the pen down and waited for the ink to dry. "Let him think about that," he said under his breath as he folded and sealed his response. He barely knew the man personally, but for some reason he decided that he didn't like him.

He copied these new instructions down on another piece of paper and rose to pass on both this and the missive to Gray. He stopped by the door and looked at the crumpled up shirt he'd thrown there and then down at the t shirt he was still wearing. _Fuck it_. He left his uniform shirt where it had landed and opened the door, barking for Harris.

Several minutes later the young lieutenant appeared. "This response is to be delivered to the rider from the 14th division immediately. Make sure he's fed and has a room for the night. I expect him to leave at first light.

He indicated the other paper. "See that this is copied and sent to the commanding officers of every division in the field and is distributed to General Adams as well. I want every soldier in the entire fucking militia to be aware of this by the end of the month. No exceptions."

"Will there be anything else sir?" the lieutenant asked as he took the offered pages.

"That is all," Monroe ordered. The young man saluted him, which he returned after a moment. "Oh, one more thing… I'm officially off duty for the night. No disturbances unless the world is ending," he added.

Monroe went back into his office and locked the door behind him. He went through the double doors on the far side of the room, which led to his personal quarters—a small sitting room, a washroom of sorts and his bedroom. Entering the bedroom he kicked off his boots and flopped down on the bed.

Reaching over he grabbed empty glass off of the nightstand. Hesitating, he sat up just enough to pour himself another glass of whiskey from the bottle he'd so shamelessly stashed under the nightstand. Maybe just one more would numb him to sleep. "Got I hate my job," he mumbled before downing it and then pouring yet another.

An hour later, he stared at the ceiling. He watched as it spun above him, just as he had every night since he'd set up his capital in Nashville eight months prior. He knew he was going to feel like hell in the morning- just has he had every morning since he'd gotten back what was left of his empire and then some.

Gone were the days of running from the Patriots and sleeping out on the road or in some shitty new safe house. He'd never realized at the time that he'd miss it. Sure, his presence had been barely tolerated at best by Miles and his family—and he'd constantly worried that he'd end up with Rachel's knife in his back, but for a short time he'd just been a soldier again, fighting the good fight (sort of).

Now his life had devolved into decision making and politics and so on. He'd hoped that things would be different this time around, but it was all the same. People were unhappy and hungry. The militia was once again public enemy number one. There were still constant clashes on the border between the militia and the plains.

The facts were that people wanted the militia to protect them from the war clans and the militia wanted the respect and supplies, but all Monroe wanted was to feel like someone—anyone actually gave a damn about him or what he was trying to accomplish.

Of course within a month or so of reclaiming everything viable east of the Mississippi River, Connor had come sniffing around. He'd begged to make amends, swearing that it had been Tom Neville that had confused him and blurred his judgment with lies. _You got what you wanted, didn't you? Isn't that why you did this in the first place? Or did you have other motives… ones that had nothing to do with him, and everything to do with THEM?_

It had taken him all of two days to realize that Connor was a very gifted actor and maybe wasn't all he'd seemed. A month down the road, he'd come to the realization that his son was the worst thing that could ever happen to the Republic. He'd come at him almost immediately with plans to take on the Plains and Canada. It had taken Bass weeks of arguing to get it through his progeny's thick skull that they were _not_ going to implement those plans and that he, not Connor was in charge—or so he'd thought.

He'd finally had to send out a dispatch to the entire militia ordering all soldiers do immediately disregard and report any and all orders coming from Connor. Three months ago, Connor had officially been sent home to Jasper with orders to keep his butt there and his mouth shut. Essentially he was living under house arrest. His household would be maintained by the Republic indefinitely, but that was the most he was willing to offer his son.

The little idiot having tried to take on St. Louis in the name of the Republic had been the straw that broke the camel's back. Monroe had barely been able to stop it before the first attack had been made. The border war it could have caused would have been catastrophic for the Republic. So now Connor sat rotting in Jasper and was no longer considered heir apparent for the presidency.

Of course, that left Monroe with an even bigger problem. He had to figure out who would take over in the event of his untimely demise or eventual retirement. That was something that the original incarnation of the Republic had lacked towards the end and it had caused a lot of turmoil in the already unstable nation.

The next in line had always been Miles, but after he'd left there was no one. Now that Connor was essentially a prisoner there was no one once again, but Monroe knew that if something were to happen to him before a new one was chosen that his son could very well likely end up with the job.

In his drunken state, he had an idea. It was most definitely a horrible idea, but it was one all the same. He got out of bed and stumbled into his office, almost tripping twice. He threw himself into his chair and hastily began to write a letter. A part of him realized that he should probably wait until he was at least halfway sober to think about it and write the letter. And then, he should wait until he was completely sober before reading it, but then again if he did that he'd never send the damn thing.

Finished, he scanned its contents—not to reconsider but merely to make sure that it was at least halfway legible. Satisfied that it at least resembled English and seemed to be spelled correctly, he sealed it and sat staring at it for a few moments. _Might as well send it now before you have a chance to come to your senses…_ He burst out into the hallway. "Get me that Harris kid," he barked at a guard stationed down the hallway, at the top of the stairs.

To his credit, the lieutenant did his best to hide his shock at their commanding general's appearance when he arrived a short while later. Quite drunk and half-dressed the general looked as out of place as a man could be. "See to it that this letter gets sent at once. I want it on a train west before dawn," he ordered

"But sir, the coal reserves are almost completely depleted. Most of the trains have been shut down indefinitely," Harris began nervously.

"I don't care if they have to burn pinecones to get the damn thing moving. I want it delivered before the end of the week!" With that he slammed the door in the young man's face and stumbled back into his bedroom to find his bed once more. As the liquor and exhaustion worked in tandem to force him to sleep, he found himself feeling hopeful for the first time in months.


	2. Words With (Old) Friends

_Willoughby Texas…_

Charlie looked up from her task. She was using a pair of tongs to stir a pot on the stove. Inside was not dinner but boiling water and freshly laundered bandages. As her grandfather's official-unofficial assistant (her mother being his official assistant), she had been spending her entire day doing tasks such as this.

Yes, things like this sucked, but they were still necessary. One couldn't run a doctor's office without supplies and in the post-blackout world there were no packages of sterile gauze or boxes adhesive bandages to be had. A doctor needed to have clean bandages available at all times and it was one of Charlie's many jobs to ensure that he did.

One by one she pulled them out. She put them in a plastic tub. Later she would hang them up to dry in what used to be the guest bathroom. Once they were dry they would be carefully stored until needed and any wounded souls in Willoughby would be assured that any infection they might receive wouldn't be from their bandages.

A knock came to the door, interrupting her from her task. When it became clear that no one else was going to answer it, she set down the tongs and headed to the other side of the house to do it herself.

She opened the door to reveal a Texas Ranger. "Charlotte Matheson?"

"Yes?" She did her best to swallow back the nervousness that his presence caused. What could the Rangers possibly want with her? The times her family had dealt with them in the past usually involved rather large quantities of bullets, and as boring as her life had become over the past year that was something she'd rather avoid.

The ranger handed her a letter before tipping his hat and turning to head down the porch stairs. Charlie watched him for a second before closing the door. She turned the letter over and inspected the wax seal. The "M" imbedded into it told her exactly where it was from, and that only one of two different people could have sent it.

That at least explained the special delivery. Any correspondence sent from Nashville would have to go through official channels. To send anything otherwise could be seen as an act of treason on the recipient's behalf and an act of war. There was still a lot of tension between Texas and the new Monroe Republic, despite the friendship of sorts that had sprung up between Blanchard and Monroe. Just because the latter had played a significant role in saving Texas from itself didn't mean that he wasn't a potential problem, after all.

She finally broke the wax seal and unfolded the letter carefully. She almost began to read before she thought better of it. Suddenly an overwhelming urge for privacy hit her. Folding it back up, she stuck it in her pocket before going back to her chore with the bandages. It would have to wait until later.

Late that night, after sharing a quiet dinner and conversation with her family and the Pittmans, Charlie finally made her way to her bedroom. Mindful of the letter that had been burning a hole in her pocket all day; she pulled it out and set it on her nightstand. After getting ready for bed and turning the lamp down, she burrowed under the blankets, with every intention of waiting until the morning to read the letter.

She tossed and turned for the better part of an hour before she finally gave up on the pretense of sleep. She may have been trying to deny it, but she was dying to know which of the two Monroes had been the author of her letter. For reasons she couldn't explain, that seemed to be more important than its actual content.

She relit her lamp and turned the wick up just enough for her to see. She reached for the letter and unfolded it once more. She knew before she even started reading it that it was most definitely from the elder of the two men.

_Charlotte,_

_ I've found myself in a bit of trouble and I'm hoping you're willing to help me. Needless to say, any hopes I'd once had of Miles joining me here in Nashville have been abandoned, so I can't turn to him and Connor isn't what you would call up for the task either. I find myself in need of not only an advisor that I can trust, but also one that is willing to speak freely and candidly on several different issues. The future of the Republic depends on it._

_ I will be frank; things here have not gone according to plan. All my best efforts have for the most part gone to waste. On top of that, some things happened between me and Connor that are only adding to the instability, not only in Nashville but throughout the entire Republic. _

_ I'd written to your uncle more than once for advice, but he has made it very clear that he will under no circumstance step foot on the eastern side of the river, let alone help me in any way. And so, I am writing to extend my offer of a position in Nashville to you._

_ I'm sure you are perfectly inclined to respond by telling me to go fuck myself, but I'm asking that you at least come to Nashville and hear me out and see what I am trying to do before you give in to that impulse. _

_ A courier will await your reply at the border crossing on Baton Rouge._

_ With warmest regards,_

_ Gen. Sebastian Monroe_

_ P.S. I'm begging you. I need help, Charlie - Bass_

Charlie folded the letter neatly and sat up in bed, propped against her pillows. She stared at the back of it, her gaze once more settling on the now broken seal. The sight of the "M" reminded her so much of the horror that was the old Republic. This sent a shudder through her.

Of course, he was right. Her first instinct had been to burn the letter and send the ashes of it back to him with a letter of her own (which would likely only contain the words "fuck" and "you"). But then her thoughts went back to that post script. That one line stopped her.

The remainder of the letter was so formal and if she'd learned anything from him, he adopted the formality to hide his more psychotic tendencies. In contrast, the man she'd fought beside was crass and vulgar—deliciously filthy (and fun, if she'd only admit it to herself). The mass murderer called her Charlotte without fail—it was a matter of protocol. The only time that the other side of him called her that was when he was trying to prove a point—or just piss her off.

The post script was so informal that it bordered on sincere. The personal addition was so unlike the general persona that she just couldn't get it out of her mind. As she contemplated this, she realized that there was something else about the letter that was odd. Something with the way it was written. She unfolded it for a third time.

She'd seen dispatches from him before—copies of letters the rebels and the Georgia Federation had intercepted when they were still trying to overthrow him. The handwriting then was so perfectly uniform and straight. It was like the man had a talent for even lines and spacing. Aaron had even said once that it appeared almost as if he'd done it on a computer (which had been impossible of course, but it was just that _perfect)._

This letter was anything but. Sure, the handwriting itself was the same confident script he'd always used. The letters were formed the same as always, slanted just so in indication of his being left handed. That is where the resemblance ended. This was written so badly that it was actually almost sad. The lines were poorly spaced and were written uphill in some places, downhill in others. He'd taken an entire page to write something that could just have easily fit in the top half. The only word she could use to describe it was sloppy. The General didn't do sloppy—it was a sign of weakness, after all.

Charlie laid awake in her bed the remainder of the night. After much thought and changing her mind more than once, she finally made her decision. She crawled out of bed and shoved some clothes and other necessities in a backpack. Dashing off a quick note, she slipped out the back door before anyone else was awake. There was an early train to New Orleans every Friday (lucky her).

_What are you thinking?_ She asked herself as she waited to pay her fare for the train ride. It was not cheap and it took most of her meager savings. _He is SO reimbursing me… with interest. _Of course she could have sent her response in writing. It was obvious that was what he'd expected. He probably planned on hearing from her within a week or two and then (hopefully) making arrangements to send for her later. Well, if there was anything she'd learned from the man was to keep him guessing or he'd run roughshod all over you—and that was something she couldn't allow.

When she got to the border she found the courier easily enough. He'd been expecting, of course a letter. What he had not expected was this young and feisty blonde insisting on travelling to Nashville immediately. His initial reaction was to inform her that he needed to send word to Nashville for further instructions, but Charlie could be very convincing when she needed to be.

The end results were that she was on a train north by the end of the day and that the courier was just a little bit afraid of her. As the young man climbed aboard after her, he realized that their President in Chief may very well have bitten off more than he could chew with this strong-willed viper—and that he was more than happy to deliver her to his doorstep and have nothing else to do with her.


	3. Allow Myself to (Re)Introduce Myself

Monroe sat going over the treaty from Texas. The thing had sat idle at his desk for well over a week and he had finally worked up the energy to read it. He could only put his job off for so long. To the side he kept a list of concerns he had and things he wanted to amend. The first thing he'd listed at the top of, before he'd even read a word of the document before him was written in all caps and underlined for emphasis… FOOD!

A knock interrupted his work. "Come!" he called out, his standard greeting, to be sure. Sally, the compound's housekeeper entered. "Good afternoon, General. I was just checking to see if you were ready for luncheon," the matronly woman asked. As housekeeper, it was her job to ensure that the residential section of the capital ran smoothly and assigning tasks to and overseeing the maids and other staff. She took her job very seriously.

_Luncheon? Why does it have to be so damned formal?_ Still, despite his recent aversion to formality, he was starving. "Just bring me whatever's lying around the kitchen."

"But sir…."

He looked up from the pages he held. "Sally, in case you haven't noticed, we're in the middle of a nationwide food crisis. Formal meals for all staff, myself included are suspended until further notice."

"Sir, if we don't use up what's in the larder, it will just go to waste," she argued.

Monroe pinched the bridge of his nose. Another day, another thousand problems, another migraine. "Then go through it and send whatever we can't use right away to whoever can." He gave her a severe look. "I mean it. No more five course meals, no more catered staff meetings. Nobody eats it all anyway. Just bring me a sandwich or something."

She nodded her understanding and backed out of the room, slightly offended. It was her job to manage and arrange all of those five course meals and catered staff meetings. Granted, she'd always thought them to be a little on the extravagant side and it would make her job a lot easier to not have to organize three formal meals a day for the general, not to mention the ones for the ranking militia that worked in the other side of the compound, but she'd always taken pride in those meals.

She went to the kitchen and found herself personally putting together a simple meal for the leader of their nation herself as the three cooks that worked under her under her took inventory of what was in the pantry. She was just about to send the plate up to him when a missive arrived via a much winded looking private.

_Sally,_

_ In addition to the instructions I have already given: as is policy, all employees will still receive meals while they are on the premises, however from now on all senior staff will share the same fare as all entry level staff, myself and all advisors and officials included._

_ Meal plans should follow the same quantities and quality as the standards for garrisoned militia. If it's good enough for the men and women charged with protecting our borders and maintaining the peace, it should be good enough for the rest of us. _

_ All meals should be adjusted accordingly and leftovers shall be delivered at the end of each meal to the orphanage on South Main. It has come to my attention recently that this facility has not been able to procure supplies to meet their current needs. There should be more than enough available staff to see that this is done three times a day, seeing as how they will have less to do in the kitchen from here on out. _

_ Harris will supply you with any information you need in regards to making this transition. I have appointed him as my personal secretary effective immediately and he is at your disposal in all things regarding the running of both my personal residence and the capital. Any instructions regarding changes to this or any other policy should be taken as having come directly from me._

_ Gen. S. Monroe._

Monroe had just received the plate from Sally and had dismissed the poor nervous looking maid. _Am I really that scary?_ He took his lunch and the treaty over to the small table in his private quarters, intent on working through lunch. _A general does not eat at his desk. It's crude_. He barely had his ass in the chair when another knock came to the door.

He sighed in irritation and with one last forlorn look at his plate (that ham sandwich had looked _so_ good), he went back into his office with the stack of papers in hand and sat down behind the desk. In an attempt to look busy, he started flipping through the treaty once more before responding. "Come!"

"Sir, a response to your letter to Ms. Matheson has arrived," Harris said.

He glanced up and saw that the young man's hands were empty. "Well?" he asked after a moment. "The response?"

Harris merely nodded and went back to the door. Monroe raised a brow, confused. When nothing happened he shrugged and turned back to the treaty. He heard the door closing followed by footsteps on the hardwood floor. "Okay, Monroe. You've got five minutes to show me what you're trying to do and what you want with me. I'll hear you out—just this once," she said as she leaned on the desk before him.

Monroe set down the treaty and slowly lifted his gaze. There she was, looming over him. The look on her face told him she was trying very hard to look a lot more irritated than she actually was. "Charlie," he greeted her cautiously.

"Jesus, Monroe. You look like shit," she murmured as she straightened. And he did too. His hair was a mess and entirely too long (he'd forgotten to send for that barber), and he wasn't in his full uniform. Indeed, if Charlie would have only turned around, she'd see his shirt in a ball hanging halfway inside the wastebasket. He'd tossed it there every morning for the past week when it had been returned to him laundered and ready. He could no longer stomach the thought of wearing it, and only did so when it was absolutely unavoidable, but on a side note- his aim was getting much better.

There were also dark circles under his eyes, indicative of his ongoing insomnia and the stress that came with his job. "Don't you sleep?" she added when she noticed them.

"Well hello, Charlie. It's nice to see you too," he replied with a roll of his eyes. _She came… I can't believe it, she's here. _

An hour later they were sitting in front of two empty plates in his adjoining quarters. She hadn't had a thing all day and when he'd heard her stomach growl he'd immediately sent for a second plate. She'd actually been mildly surprised at the simplicity of the food. She'd expected something more lavish than a ham sandwich and an apple. "So why did you send for me, Monroe?"

He watched her for a moment. His first instinct was to give her one hell of a sales pitch, lay on the charm nice and thick and hope for the best—but this was Charlie. Instead he did something so out of character for him that it shocked them both. He dropped his defenses, cut the bullshit and decided to be brutally honest, no matter how bad it made him look or pathetic it made him sound.

"I need your help," he began.

Charlie narrowed her eyes at him. She'd seen him visibly retract the wall he always so carefully kept around himself, but still didn't trust his motivation for a second. "So you've said."

"I'm trying to make things right—to make the Republic what it should have been the first time, but I can't do this alone. And I… I don't want to do this at all."

That took her by surprise. "What?"

He sighed as he leaned back in his chair, his gaze finding something, anything to look at other than her distrusting eyes. "I hate my job, Charlie. I can't fucking stand it."

She got up from the table. His confession had made her uncomfortable and his almost defeated air was making it worse. She looked out the window and watched the people pass by on the street below. "Then why did you go through so much effort to reclaim your little throne?"

Monroe winced a little at the bitterness in her voice, the anger at his audacity. "So I had _something_ to offer the only family I had left. I guess I didn't want to accept that the connection there would always be one sided. It doesn't matter why, what matters is that the Republic exists and I'm stuck with it. Unfortunately, it's also stuck with me."

She turned around to look at him. "Why? If you don't want it, walk away."

"If I do that, Connor will surely come to power and _that_ would be a disaster. You think I was crazy and brutal before? You think that the Republic was the worst possible place to live? You haven't seen anything yet." He raised his voice, not in anger but in utter despair. "He's sick, Charlie. He's sick and crazier than I ever was—and I can't help him. Believe me, I've tried." His voice cracked against his will.

He spent the next several minutes describing Connor's attempts at playing warlord. "If he gets into power it's going to mean wars and hunger and everything else that defined the Republic before the tower, only this time it'll be worse. I had to send him to Jasper and put him under house arrest when he tried to lead an unauthorized raid on the Plains."

"So what do you need me for?" she finally asked, her tone and posture all but demanding that he lay it all out there. She was trying very hard to ignore the emotional "slip." _Remember he's manipulative when he wants something_, she reminded herself.

Monroe rose and stood before her. _Time to lay all my cards out on the table_. "Officially, Connor can't succeed me as president, but if something were to happen to me he'd likely end up with the job all the same. For the sake of both the Republic and everyone living within our borders that _can't _happen, Charlie. I need a potential successor, but for now, I'm just asking that you become an advisor in an official capacity. I need help stabilizing the country. Nothing I'm doing seems to be helping."

"You've got a hundred senior officers that are probably jumping at that chance. Why me?" she challenged.

He should have known that she wouldn't make it easy. "Half of them are holdovers from the former incarnation of the Republic. You saw how the militia ran before. Others are from Georgia. It might have looked like they were so much better, but believe me that the only difference between the Georgia Federation and Monroe Republic was that they had more food. They were every bit as brutal, if not more so. The rest of them are completely inexperienced. You've got more time in the field than the lot of them." He took a step closer. "And, I can't trust them. You on the other hand…"

Charlie laughed nervously as she took a step back. "You think you can trust _me_?"

"Yes." His blue eyes softened. "At the very least, you'll want to do the right thing; that's how you're built. The rest of them will only try to advance themselves further. You, on the other hand are one of the most selfless and moral people have ever known. Also, I know you'll keep me in check." Monroe lowered his voice and locked eyes with her meaningfully. "It's very hard not to slip back into old habits. I know you'd be able to stop me if that happened."

"And how would I do that?"

"Once you've been here a while and made a name for yourself, I intend to make you my vice president. For one, if I got out of hand all you'd have to do is shoot me and the Republic would be yours to run as you see fit."

Charlie flinched at the suggestion. _Shoot him? _It was almost like he was begging her to do just that. She could almost feel the desperation seeping off of him. It was just all starting to sink in what he was offering her. He wanted to groom her to lead the Republic after he was gone.

"I'm begging you, Charlie. I can't do this alone—not anymore. I'm terrified of what I'll become if I keep going on the way I have all these months," he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper now.

Charlie turned back to the window and resumed watching the denizens of Nashville, bustling back and forth as they went about their days. They stood unmoving for quite some time before she turned back to him. "I will stay—for now. No promises though," she said with a resigned sigh as she went against her instincts and caved. She walked past him and towards his office. "Okay, so show me what you've been doing."


	4. All Work And No Play Makes Bass A Dick

**A/N: This will probably be the longest chapter in this by far. There was no way to split it up logically. This fic isn't meant to be overly long or descriptive, but I thought the subject matter was fun. I suppose could have gone without the first half, but the troubles he's having are significant to the plot later. Also, thanks to everyone that has commented on this story so far. I promise I'll reply to as many comments as I can once the weekend is over. It's enough just to get the chapters up with working all weekend.**

Over the first several days after Charlie's arrival, Monroe spent most of his time showing her everything he'd been working on to try and bring peace and stability to the new Monroe Republic. He made it a point to show her the new policies he'd enacted in regards to taxes and the militia's behavior towards civilians first, hoping it would help to prove he was sincere.

Charlie spent hours alone in her office going over correspondences between Nashville and representatives from the south and so on. One week into her position as his advisor she found herself lying in bed with a stack of papers sitting on her lap, the oil lamp turned up to give her just enough light to see. She had her work cut out for her and had been burning the midnight oil since her arrival.

One of the first things she'd done when she'd managed to break away from Monroe was do a little digging around about him. Before she made any permanent decisions, she wanted to know if he was headed down that road again. According to his staff he'd been working from dawn until late into the night every day for months. It was a common sight to see him barking orders and sending dispatches at two in the morning or later.

He rarely left his office and quarters unless absolutely necessary and he hadn't left the compound in months. This did little to reassure Charlie. From what she'd heard when they were fighting against the previous incarnation of the Monroe Republic, he'd eventually cut himself off the same way right around the time he started to go crazy.

She'd also learned from the maids and from Sally that his drinking was starting to get out of hand. They couldn't see how he even managed to function with how much he went through. This had been going on for months—ever since Connor had popped up at their doorstep. He also never sought female company.

That struck Charlie as disturbingly odd. The Sebastian Monroe she knew had been a total male slut, if there ever was one. While she'd been tailing him in New Vegas she noticed he always had some piece of ass following him around. And, during the war she'd heard more than one rumor of his exploits.

Harris was only able to provide her with limited insight into his behavior. He'd been on guard duty when the message from Detroit had arrived and had been sent by his superior to deliver it— that was all. He'd just somehow slipped into his role as Monroe's go to guy by accident. Monroe had gone from not even knowing his name to trusting him implicitly before Harris even knew he'd been assigned the job. That had been a week before Charlie had arrived and he'd found himself promoted to captain the day after she'd shown up on their doorstep.

By the third week it was very clear that although he was honestly putting forth an effort to do things the right way, he was working himself into a deep depression and to the point of exhaustion. She also suspected that he was very lonely. His worries were many and whereas he made it a point to _not_ act paranoid or crazy, he would soon be fighting a losing battle if things didn't change for him.

"What about Florida?" Charlie asked. They were sitting at his desk, going over the amended treaty for Texas. There was a promise to send aid as needed but the cost would be very high and it might not be enough to see them past the winter, despite the fact that the financial effects would hurt the Republic for years to come.

"What about it?" Monroe asked, looking up. Florida had remained fairly cut off since the bombs had dropped and had become autonomous under the leadership of one Governor Jeffrey Jackson.

"The growing season is year round, right? If you annexed Florida and sent workers to help, you might get a better yield throughout the season. It wouldn't be enough for the entire country, but if you added it to what Texas is willing to send it could help," she suggested. Deep down, she was almost starting to like her job, although she was still loath to admit it to him.

Monroe sat back and thought about it, his hands drumming lightly on the edge of the desk. "They'd never go for it. We'd have to take them by force, which is something I'm trying _not_ to do, remember? That's why we ended up at war with Georgia for so long the first time around. That's the last thing I want right now—not to mention the fact that the Republic is basically broke. We can't afford to go to war."

Charlie shook her head at him. "Did you and Miles ever _try_ a little diplomacy? You have to find the right thing to offer them. Give them an incentive." She pushed a piece of paper in front of him. Harris had enlisted several lackeys to come up with a list of what goods came from where. "Florida can't support large amounts of livestock and has no access to other things that are produced in various parts of the Republic—things like textiles and lamp oil. So, offer them a promise of those supplies in return for joining the Republic and increasing their crop yields. They don't have enough people to farm their land? Well, we have more than enough hungry people up north."

He just looked at her, in awe. Where had this amazing creature come from? "That could work… We'd more than likely have to allow them some measure of autonomy though. They could be like our Puerto Rico…" He caught the look she sent him indicating that she had no idea what Puerto Rico was and he should damn well know that. "It's an island in… you know what, it's not important."

She gestured towards the list. "Anyway, we know part of the problem up north is that there isn't enough food to go around. People eat what is produced regionally. There is more than enough land down south, but again, not enough people to farm it. Offer free land or tax breaks or whatever to get them to move south and farm rather than sit idle where the growing season is shorter. If there's a surplus down south then you can send it up north later. The entire Republic has to work together."

Charlie looked at him meaningfully. "Before, everyone sent stuff to Philly, but not to other parts of the Republic. I sat and watched an entire batch of soft cheese go bad in Wisconsin because we'd sent what we were required as taxes and had more left over than we could use. It never occurred to anyone in charge of Sylvania Estates to send it to Cincinnati or Chicago in trade, let alone just to get rid of it before it spoiled."

They went back and forth over the next several hours, coming up with several strategies to solve their immediate problems and prevent things from getting so dire in the future. He made no attempts to hide the fact that he was a soldier, not a politician. Still, most of the things he'd come up with on his own were along the same lines of what they'd worked out together now. It wasn't that they were bad ideas. There was really no reason why his plans weren't working, except for the fact that it was too much for one person to implement and keep track of alone.

The majority of the people that were working under him were good soldiers, when they weren't out to improve their own lots in life, but that's all they were. Most of them did not have the experience or motivation to help him when it came to dealing with food supply chains and the like. The United States before the blackout had entire departments dedicated to agriculture, industry, trade, transportation etc. He was trying to govern a nation a third of that size all by himself.

In Charlie's mind, it was little wonder that he'd gone insane the first time and was working himself to death the second time around. Even with her presence and help it was a huge undertaking and it was obvious that he still wasn't sleeping or taking care of himself properly—even if he had at least taken the time to finally get that haircut and had been at least stopping to eat on occasion.

By the end of the day he'd outlined several policy changes and he'd formed a response to the treaty. _This is what I needed… A fresh perspective,_ he thought as he watched her retreat to seek her supper. They'd gotten more done in the past few weeks than he'd done in the previous two months and although he was still carrying a thousand worries and problems it didn't seem as overwhelming as before.

He was in the middle of writing a letter to Blanchard to go along with the treaty when the door to his office opened once more. He knew it was her. Charlie was the only person that walked in on him without bothering to knock. Harris no longer waited for an invitation to enter during working hours, but at least he made it a point to rap on the door at least once or twice before barging in.

He stopped writing to look up at her, thinking she'd probably forgotten something when she'd left. She'd changed and was dressed like she was headed out for the evening. The blouse and long skirt she wore concealed everything, but were tight enough that with her trim figure they left little to the imagination. This was a far cry from the warrior she'd been in Texas. "What's with the getup?" he asked, trying to hide the fact that he was enjoying the view from both Charlie and himself.

"When's the last time you've left this building?" she asked, snapping his attention to her face.

Monroe had to struggle to focus long enough to form words and turn them into a complete sentence. "It's been a while."

"Get out of that chair, get changed and meet me downstairs. You've become a recluse and the staff are starting to think you're creepy. We're going out." She headed back towards the door. "And for the love of God, wear something other than your uniform."

Before he could respond, she was gone and the door was closed once more. "Yes ma'am," he murmured, still sitting behind his desk and staring blankly ahead. _What the hell just happened?_ In a daze, he went into his quarters and started digging through the closet for something non-uniform to wear. Sadly, the only thing he could find were the clothes he'd worn in Texas. _Creepy?_

The fact that people would find it odd if he didn't go out wasn't something he'd considered before. Then again, Jeremy Baker had urged him on multiple occasions to get out and stop living like a hermit in Philly. He forced back the memory of the last time he'd let Baker convince him to leave Independence Hall as he got dressed.

He looked into the mirror as he put on his old leather jacket. It fit him like an old friend. He hadn't worn it or anything other than his uniform since he'd first arrived in Nashville. He paused by the door before returning to grab a gun and check the clip. If he was leaving the compound, he sure as hell wasn't doing it unarmed. After strapping on his sword belt he headed down to meet her.

She took in his appearance. If it wasn't for the fact that they were in Nashville and she'd just spent the past couple of weeks helping him go over legislation and treaties, she could have sworn by the sight of him that they were still in Texas. "Seriously?" she asked as she raised a brown at him.

"What? I'm not wearing a uniform," he insisted.

"Do you even own anything else?" She looked him over. The sword belt he wore wasn't the fancy one that went with the trappings of General of the Monroe Militia. It was the old and worn one he'd picked up from the bounty hunters that had taken him from New Vegas—the very swords that he'd used when he'd saved her life in Pottsboro and that he'd fought with in the months that followed.

"No," he replied. He could feel the blush rising to his cheeks. There was something about the way she was staring at him that had him feeling flustered.

"Come on then," Charlie said, trying her best to hide her amusement at his obvious discomfort. _Fair is fair,_ she thought to herself. She'd caught him giving her the once over when she'd come to his office to extend her very forceful invitation. As far as she was concerned he deserved to know what it felt like. They were almost to the seldom used side door past the kitchen when she stopped and turned. "Wait a minute. Where's your security detail?"

Monroe rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "I sort of… dismissed them."

"For the evening?" She was bewildered. The General Monroe of the past had never gone anywhere in Philly without one, or so Miles had told her once.

"Indefinitely."

She pulled him aside, out of the earshot of the kitchen staff, who were eyeing them with interest. "Why would you do that?"

"Because I…" He hesitated. "Look, in Philly, I got really bad, okay? After I sent Connor to Jasper, I started feeling a little paranoid. So, I dismissed them…" the confession was hard for him. How could she possibly understand? It was bad enough to constantly look over your shoulder, wondering if your own son had people on the inside helping him plot against you. Having six men constantly following him around only seemed to exacerbate those feelings. "With them gone, things feel a bit more normal. That's why I don't leave the compound."

"Well, maybe we should have Harris get a few guards for us," she said thoughtfully. Watching the man she'd promised to help get assassinated wasn't her idea of a good time.

Monroe was firmly against it. "You want me to get out for a few hours? Well, I'm not doing it if I'm stuck tripping over body guards all night." He took a step closer to her. "Look, it's been months since I've left. If we're careful, I probably won't even be recognized since I'm out of uniform."

"Well at least you're armed," she murmured as he took the jacket she carried. She turned around and allowed him to slip it over her shoulders. _And people say chivalry is dead, _she thought with a grin.

They found themselves sitting at a table outside of a little pub on the outskirts of town. Torches had been lit so that the patrons that chose to sit there could see the drinks in front of them. Somewhere nearby an impromptu jam session had started with several men playing guitars and singling along to old country songs that Charlie had never heard before. The scene around the pub reminded her of the town square in Willoughby.

So far they'd lucked out and no one had even suspected that their president was among them. He'd never realized how liberating it would feel to get out after so many months being cooped up inside the capitol. The problems that plagued the rest of the troubled nation had not yet reached Nashville as severely, so most people seemed happy and at ease. Then again the same had been true of Philly once. If they couldn't get things to turn around it was only a matter of time before people would be tightening their belts and cursing his name here as well.

Early fall or not, a cold snap had just set in and the air was just brisk and it had sent most of the other patrons inside, but it wasn't bad enough to discourage them. At least here they could hear the music and were less likely to be noticed. It was almost like they were in their own little world apart from the others. "Why Monroe, is that an actual smile I see?" Charlie asked quietly so as to not be overheard.

"Bass."

"Huh?" she asked.

"I have a name, use it." He didn't know why it mattered so much that she stop calling him by his surname, but at that moment he couldn't think of a thing that took more precedence. She'd never called him anything else. It had never bothered him before, but things were different. He found that it annoyed the hell out of him now.

Charlie chuckled at him. "Okay, Bass then. So why the shit eating grin?"

He shrugged trying to appear more casual than he felt. "I don't know. This is just… nice. It feels normal. I can't remember the last time life felt normal. It's probably been since before the blackout."

He picked up his glass and went to take a drink. Charlie clicked her glass to his. "To normal then," she said as she raised it to her lips and downed its contents.

He could see the flush on her cheeks. Charlie Matheson was buzzed. And, if he was to be honest, so was he. He wasn't exactly drunk, but that perfect warm and fuzzy feeling that came when you had just enough to feel good but not so much that you were out of control—happy but not about to do anything stupid.

Of course it occurred to him that they really should be calling it a night before they got drunk enough to do something stupid. Try as he might he couldn't quite force himself to suggest it. After spending a lot of drunk and lonely nights in absolute misery, he wasn't ready to go back to the prison he'd created for himself quite yet. _Besides, you're usually a lot more trashed by this time of night_, he silently reasoned.

Just then the band started playing another song. Several couples from inside the bar had wandered out into the street and had begun to dance. He rose from his chair and held a hand out to her. "Dance with me."

"Excuse me?" she asked suspiciously.

That flustered smile found its way back to his face, lending him a boyishness that she hadn't noticed before. "Dance with me," he repeated. When she still sat there looking incredulous he shook his head at her. "It's not a marriage proposal, it's just a dance."

Charlie eventually accepted his hand and slowly rose. She let him lead her to where the other couples were swaying. She'd never been one to dance really, but the way he asked her was alarming adorable and benign that once she'd gotten over her shock at him suggesting it at all, she hadn't been able to refuse.

He pulled her into his arms and led her into the dance, moving her about in time to the music while one of the players crooned on in his rich tenor about love found and lost again. As they moved around the other couples, he looked down at her with an intensity that brought back memories of the man she'd traveled beside in Texas, of the camaraderie they'd once shared. It had petered out little by little once they'd arrived in Willoughby, but every now and again she'd catch him looking at her as he did now.

By the time they'd returned from New Vegas, he'd stopped looking at her all together. It wasn't until that night by the train that he'd willingly met her with his intense gaze again. It was just after he'd stopped Tom Neville from shooting through Miles to get to her.

Neville had said it was because Monroe was unable to deny anything for his "precious Miles," but the man had been unconscious when he'd given her that same heated and longing glance. Later when she found out how much helping her family with Texas had cost him, she wondered if there was something more to the way he'd looked at her. When her mother had been thanking him for not fucking them all over outside that church, it hadn't been Rachel he'd stared at, after all.

Now as the music played and he spun her around she saw a shred of a different man trying to escape from the gruff and cold exterior. In the past three weeks she'd seen the internal war he waged as he tried to hold it together and she'd learned that there was more to him than she'd ever realized.

The fact that he'd turned to her as a final act of desperation seemed at this moment to hold more significance than it had before. It was as if he wanted something more than a backup plan, but for the life of her she couldn't figure out what.

Before long the song ended and the moment was gone. He led her back to the table. "We should be getting back," he murmured. "It's only a matter of time before someone recognizes me." He seemed almost wistful as he handed her a bag of diamonds so she could go inside and pay for their meal and drinks. He waited in the shadows for her to return. The bar was too crowded for him to risk going inside.

When she returned they made their way back in silence. Charlie was in utter confusion as to the change in his demeanor. He'd been open with her from the moment she'd gotten to Nashville and all of the sudden he'd completely closed himself off after that dance. He wasn't cold or mean, just shuttered in.

Monroe didn't speak at all on the way back to the compound because he didn't quite trust himself. Asking her to dance was not a wise move on his part, however much he'd enjoyed it—and it was overwhelming how much he had. Enjoying her company was _not _what he'd written her for, and he knew life would go a lot smoother if he remembered that.

She was here because he had been fighting a losing battle with himself and his own administration. He'd known within the first six months that he wasn't fit to lead a country, but he'd made his presidential bed and now he was stuck lying in it because there was no other. What started as a last ditch effort to keep his head above water seemed already like it would pay off, but he had to remind himself that's where it had to end. Now that they were finally starting to get somewhere, he couldn't lose sight of that now.

He'd already written the change in the law that would allow her to take over as President of the Monroe Republic. Technically if he were to die tomorrow, the job was already hers. She was here to help him fix this disaster he'd created for himself. She was not here for him to develop (or rekindle) an attraction or feelings for her. So yes, dancing with her had been a huge mistake because it had felt too damn good and had sent his mind places that it had no right to be.

Always the gentleman, despite rumors to the contrary, he still walked her to the doors that led to her office and private quarters, which were located just down the hall from his own. "Thank you, for tonight," he said.

His voice sounded so sad and for a split second he let his guard down again. She could almost see the longing in his eyes before the mask came back down and he turned to walk away. "Bass?" She waited for him to stop and look back at her. "Are you okay?"

Monroe smiled weakly at her. "It's just been a long day. Goodnight," he replied before retreating to his lonely rooms.

Charlie went into her room and got ready for bed. As she climbed under the covers she couldn't get him out of her mind. _For a second there, I could have sworn he was going to kiss me,_ she thought to herself. _For a second there, I might have let him._

Monroe stared at the ceiling for quite some time before he slowly started to doze off. A few hours later he awoke from a dream: blue eyes boring into his, learning his secrets and tempting him beyond his ability to endure; the feel of a warm body next to his and soft arms around him, holding him close. He'd woken up with his heart pounding in his chest and an uncomfortable throbbing between his legs. "Nope, I definitely shouldn't have danced with her," he grumbled.

Still, what was a man to do? Thoughts of the young woman in question drifted in and out of his mind as he quickly worked his way out of his current predicament. It didn't take long and within minutes of washing his hands in the basin and returning to bed he was asleep again. In the morning he would wake up for the first time in ages feeling rested and sans hangover. He would, however also spend the next few days too embarrassed to look her in the eyes without thinking of that dream (and what followed) and blushing.


	5. Lonely? Here's Some Friends Now What?

As time passed, Charlie worked diligently with Monroe to try and fix the disaster he'd inadvertently created when he took on controlling all of the viable land east of the Mississippi River. What had at first seemed like arrogance on his part eventually revealed itself to be a happy (or in his reality, unhappy) accident. He'd only set out to reclaim what was left of his old Republic at first. The rest of it had just sort of fallen into his lap.

The first few days after their venture into town had been extremely awkward. For him, it had been because the evening rekindled an attraction he'd thought he'd eradicated when he had caught her with Connor in New Vegas. For Charlie, it was only awkward in that she could see he was going out of his way to be painstakingly professional to the point where it was almost annoying, and she couldn't quite figure out why. As far as she was concerned, they'd shared a meal and a few drinks and had a few minutes of fun—nothing had happened that should have caused him such an acute case of embarrassment.

Despite it all, being sequestered with someone for hours on end had a way of building a relationship, whether he'd been looking for one or not. His reluctance to let any of the higher ranking soldiers that lived and worked in Nashville get close to him (no matter how much closer to his age they were) meant that Monroe spent the majority of his time with Charlie and to some extent, Harris.

Even when he was "off the clock" (if there was such thing for a president), he found himself in their company. Even though he sometimes felt like an old man crashing a frat party around them, it was easier to spend time with people he trusted than it was to let his guard down around people that just might stab him in the back later. The only other option for him was to lock himself up in his quarters, and he was simply tired of being lonely and left alone to get lost in his own head for that to continue.

Because Harris acted as a go between both professionally and personally, the young captain was privy to almost every aspect of Monroe's life at any rate. And Charlie, well she was Charlie. She was the only link he had to almost every phase of his adult life. She represented the surrogate family that was; the beginning of the end of the old Republic and his abrupt emergence from the madness that almost destroyed him—not to mention the beginning of the slippery slope that was his road to redemption.

It was hard to not get close to both of them in these circumstances—especially Charlie. If he had to constantly remind himself that his friendship with her had to remain platonic, well so be it. In his lifetime he'd been attracted to countless women; being attracted to a woman didn't mean he had to sleep with her (although he had with the vast majority of them). The opportunity she offered with her presence in Nashville was far too great for him to risk anything more than friendship. And, for one such as himself, the friendship itself became far too important for him to risk throwing away just to appease his libido.

A few weeks after the dance that should never have been, Monroe and Harris sat in the library with glasses of whiskey, playing cards. The guards that had joined them earlier had already left (their presence had been an attempt on Charlie's part to make sure he was well acquainted with those charged with his protection) and Charlie had vanished shortly after dinner rather than join them as usual.

"Canasta," Harris said as he laid down seven cards before playing the rest and discarding.

"Damn," Monroe muttered as he tossed his hand down. He downed his drink while Harris collected the cards for the next deal. _Why are we playing this?_ This was hardly a comparison to wild nights of fighting and roulette in New Vegas.

"I wonder where Miss Matheson has wandered off too," Harris said casually as he shuffled the deck.

Monroe raised an eyebrow at the younger man as he downed what was left in his glass. "Who knows?" He refilled his glass from the bottle on the table and then topped off Harris' as well. "You two seem awfully… chummy," he added.

Harris dealt and then picked up his cards, concentrating on sorting them in his hand. "Yeah, well we had to become friends. You know, join forces to keep you from working us to death… sir."

Monroe had to chuckle at that. "If you're going to sit here and drink my whiskey, don't call me that. I'm off the clock. Not like anyone's here to hear you anyway."

"What am I supposed to call you then?"

"Sebastian, Bass. Hell, call me Dickhead for all I care. Just not 'sir,' 'General,' or 'Mr. President.' It all gets old after a while."

"Yes sir, Mr. President Dickhead… Sir," he replied with a smirk as he drew a card and tried to keep a straight face. He realized he may have just crossed a line there, but sometimes he really couldn't help himself.

Monroe stopped for a second, trying to decide if he was offended or not. He watched his opponent carefully as he sorted through his cards again, most likely waiting to see if he was going to be dressed down for the comment. Instead of the warning he probably should have given, Monroe laughed. He had to admit the kid had some brass and he'd kind of left himself wide open for it. "So tell me, Shawn. Why are you sitting here playing cards with me and asking about Charlie instead of finding out what she's doing yourself?"

The way Harris had mentioned Charlie had just given his lightly buzzed mind an inspired idea. He'd spent more time than he was proud to admit trying not to look at her lately. He had to find a way to make her unavailable to him. It was the only thing he could think of to retain his sanity and keep from fucking up what they had.

The more he thought about it, the more it seemed like a good idea. It had worked long ago in Texas, after all. She was only a few years younger than his secretary. In all actuality the two would probably make a decent couple; the kid seemed interested at the very least. Why else would he care where she was?

"Why would I want to do that?" He asked as he discarded. "Pile is frozen," he commented as he gestured to the joker he'd just played.

Monroe narrowed his eyes at him. Harris was a ruthless card player, even if it was only canasta—they'd been at it for an hour and the kid was beating him quite soundly. "Why not? She's about your age, smart, pretty. And there's even a chance she might not be able to kick your ass—at least there will be with a few more weeks of training."

When Charlie had insisted he get outside very now and again, he'd taken it upon himself to work with Harris at swordplay in the afternoons. She'd really meant leaving the compound, but he figured challenging Harris to a few sparring matches was a decent compromise. When the young man had shown a lot of promise, he'd decided to work with him. _That_ was actually something about forming the Militia that he'd actually enjoyed once.

"She's not exactly my type," Harris confessed as he waited for him play or discard.

"Really?" The question got him an incredulous look. "Oh… gotcha," he added when he put two and two together. He made a few melds and then discarded, watching Harris while he played. It wasn't like he had a problem with the man's orientation, as much as he was surprised by it. In truth really could give a fuck less who he or anyone else slept with. _Even so…_ "You know, Shawn this-"

The captain cut him off. "Don't worry. You're not my type either," he assured his boss with a roll of the eyes. "You're too… fuzzy. And a bit old for me, don't you think?"

Monroe waited for his turn and stared at the cards in his hands. "I'm _not_ old," he grumbled under his breath. He slapped his discard down, as much annoyed with the fact his age had just been called into question as he was with his shitty hand.

"Why would you try and push me at her to begin with? The household staff is convinced you've got a crush."

Monroe watched as Harris picked up the entire discard pile and started arranging his now much larger hand. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Sure you don't," he laughed as he started playing cards out on the table. "I'm out," he said as he laid his last card down.

"I hate this game," Monroe snapped as he threw down his cards again. "Can't we just get drunk?"

"Yes sir," Harris replied, ignoring the dirty look he was given at his deliberate use of the title.

Later that evening Monroe was headed to his quarters when he happened to run into the object of his not-so-secret obsession in the hallway. "Oh, you're back," he murmured, trying very hard to hide that he was fairly well plowed.

"Have fun playing cards?" Charlie asked innocently enough. She'd been out hitting a few of the local pubs. Although she'd enjoyed herself immensely, her real reason for going out had been to listen for rumors. She was curious to see what the currently public opinion was—she'd learned early on in the evening that the opinions were quite mixed.

Monroe leaned casually on the wall next to her door. "If you consider getting your ass kicked playing Canasta fun, then no. I swear Harris cheats," he replied, trying his best not to slur. He grimaced at the way she laughed at him. "So how did you spend your evening?"

"Went out, had a few drinks and a few laughs. Fended off a few local boys," she said, smiling

Monroe tried to not feel jealous. Really, he did—he just couldn't help himself sometimes. "Oh, well…" He shut his mouth for a second and did his best to hold the feeling at bay. "I… Goodnight," he said as he abruptly turned away.

"Bass? What's wrong?" she called after him.

He considered the wisdom of turning around. Somewhere in the drunken haze of his mind he knew he should just keep on walking. Instead he stopped and faced her. "I'm the president of this shit dump and you're kind of my closest advisor. Please tell me that you were at least discrete while you were bar hopping and trying to get laid."

Charlie flinched, like he'd just slapped her. "Excuse me? You have no right… What the fuck is your problem?" She was shaking with anger. He really had some kind of nerve.

Monroe realized how much he'd fucked up the second the words had come out of his mouth. "Forget it," he said before high tailing it to his own rooms as fast as he could.

Charlie watched him go before opening the door and disappearing inside. There was something in the way he'd retreated that struck her as odd. He'd been a dick, of course but he'd also seemed so… defeated, like she'd hurt him somehow.

Monroe was standing on the other side of his door. He leaned up against the wood as he considered what he'd just done. "Stupid… stupid… stupid." He was disrupted from his current pity-party by a knock on his door. He carefully opened it to see Charlie standing there. The flash of anger she'd displayed was already gone.

She stared up at him for a few minutes, taking in how wary he looked now. "What's going on with you?"

"I'm sorry. I was out of line. I…" He hesitated. "Just ignore me. I'm just an old drunk and an idiot."

"Well, I won't deny the drunk part, or the idiot part for that matter. You were wrong, you know—about why I went out."

Monroe backed up a little into his room when she stepped forward. "You don't have to explain yourself. It's none of my business. Listen, it's late and I'm tanked. I should just go to bed before I say something stupid—again."

Charlie decided to let him save what face he could. She could tell there was something else going on there, but knew that pressing him about it would only result in his retreating further. At some point they were going to have to have a long conversation about both this and that other night, but now was not the time. "It's okay. I'll forgive you—but just this once. Goodnight," she said as she stepped back.

"Goodnight," he echoed softly as he closed the door. Later he was sprawled on his bed trying to pass out. "What the hell is the matter with you?" he asked aloud. He really did have a way of putting his foot in his mouth when it came to Charlie. _She's just your friend and an employee; you don't get to act like an ass… _


	6. Trending: 1 Step Forward, 2 More Back

**A/N: Sorry for the long delay in this next chapter. I was stuck at a point in the story where I had to decided where I wanted the story to go. I think I've got it figured out now though, so hopefully there won't be more than a day or two in between chapters. I was also trying to keep chapters a little smaller, but it's not really working out as well as I'd planned. This story is turning out to be more complicated than I'd originally intended it to be.**

**At any rate, thank you to all of those that have been awesome and offered encouragement , kudos and comments. I hope that everyone considers the long delay worth it in the end.**

**P.S. Rating will be upped to "M" for the next chapter, so if you don't receive notifications for updates, you'll have to make sure to reset your filters to find future updates after this (and now I've given a spoiler as to the contents of next chapter)…**

It had been four months since Charlie had first shown up. Little by little Monroe's days had gotten a little easier, and now he was to the point where he could at least get out of bed and start his day without dreading it. He was still overworked and their efforts may not have been entirely successful yet, but at least he had a glimmer of hope now.

He was convinced that if they just kept it up and handled one thing at a time that something would start to give. Charlie's natural talent for diplomacy and her fresh perspective went a long way towards implementing the ideas he'd already had as well as in helping him come up with new ones. He now knew that he'd the right decision when he'd written to her so rashly.

He was more than prepared to have her presence and position as his successor made public, but she'd been arguing against being named Vice-President of the Monroe Republic outright. "Not yet. I'm still not sure that this will be permanent yet," she'd told him more than once.

"If you're going to have any authority you have to have some kind of title," he remarked as he emerged through the doors separating his office and his quarters, carrying a wrapped bundle. Charlie and Harris were already there waiting on him. "I've had you commissioned as a captain in the Militia."

"You what?" Charlie turned to face him, exasperated.

"It's the way the whole thing is set up; you _know_ that. You have to have a rank, even if you don't actually have soldiers under you. All the leeches do, so you have to have one too or they won't respect you. At the very least, you have to be at or above Harris' rank. I'd have made you a major but I figure you'd have just thrown a bigger fit."

He handed her the bundle then. "I swear you'll only have to wear the uniform for official functions, and even those will only be when it's unavoidable."

"Why are you doing this?" she asked, trying her best not to whine in front of Harris. She got it—he needed help and was just desperate enough to send for her as a surrogate Miles. She still didn't understand why he was so insistent that she become president if something happened. She was too young and had no experience with this sort of thing. She was a fighter when she had to be, but to be in charge of the entire Militia was something else.

"I told you—"

"You can't do this alone," she finished for him.

Monroe raised a brow at her as he sat down at his desk. "Have I been sounding just a little too much like a broken record?"

"Maybe just a little, _General_," she replied with a wicked grin, her tone saccharine sweet.

He offered her an annoyed glare, telling Charlie exactly what he thought of her use of that title before turning to Harris. "Make sure that this is announced to every staff member in the compound?" he said as he held out the latest set of instructions. He waited for the man to leave before he got back down to business with her.

"That announcement outlines for everyone here what your role is. Since you won't let me make you my VP, I had to find something else."

Charlie cocked her head to the side and eyed him suspiciously. "What did you do?"

"I told you, you have to have an official position. I've named you my Chief of Staff."

"Your _what?_" Having been so young when the power went out, she'd had no idea how the government was run before and was unfamiliar with the title.

"You're the gatekeeper, Charlie. No one gets in without going through you first. In a way, you're in charge of everyone here with an exception for me—in an official capacity. Unofficially, you're job also entails continuing to make sure I don't do anything stupid when no one's looking. You're even above Harris now, so have fun bossing him around."

He was adamant. If she didn't accept, he didn't know what else to do with her. At some point, people were going to start talking and thinking there was something a little more sordid about her presence. The last thing they needed was for everyone to start thinking they were sleeping together and that was how she held sway. It could undermine everything they were working on—that and it would make it all that much harder for him to remember to keep his hands to himself.

Charlie could tell that he wasn't going to let it drop. "Okay," she finally said as she slumped into the chair she usually sat in when they were working together.

Monroe just nodded and picked up a stack of papers. "These are the negotiations with Blanchard for the next shipment of food and another loan. This is your baby now."

"What?" She practically yelled it as she jumped back to her feet. Helping to strategize and hammer out polices was one thing, but taking an active role in getting the Republic further indebted to Texas something else entirely.

"We need more food to get everyone through the rest of winter and we're still broke. Without help from Blanchard we're in serious trouble. I can't feed everyone and on top of that, I can't pay the Militia either. You saw what the result of that was the last time around. It's not like someone can pick up a phone and call me to say there's trouble. If factions start taking matters into their own hands, I won't find out about it for weeks, if not longer." On top of that, they needed those soldiers in place to protect the western border, where clan raids had picked up. They were always higher in the winter.

"But why me?"

"Because while Frank and I may have called a truce, we're not exactly BFF's. That and he's a sucker for pretty girls. You'll get a lot farther with him than I would," he explained.

"You do realize that if Blanchard knows I'm here, so will the rest of Texas," she said meaningfully. "That means my family will find out."

Those words took him by surprise. "You didn't tell them you were coming here?" Monroe hadn't expected her family to approve, but he hadn't even considered the fact that she'd just take off without telling them. He'd assumed all this time that they were quite unhappily aware of where she'd been all this time.

"Of course not. They'd have only followed me. I figured that the last thing you wanted was my mom barging in your front door," Charlie reasoned. "This only works if they don't know—at least until I've decided if I'm staying."

He flopped down in his chair and stared off into space for a few minutes, lost in thought. He couldn't help but be a little offended that she'd want to keep her presence a secret still, despite the fact she'd been helping him since October. She'd agreed to stay because he'd been able to prove to her that he was making a sincere effort here and in four months since, they'd become friends. The more he thought about it, the shittier he thought it was for her try to pretend to the outside world that none of this existed.

"I'm not sure I'm okay with that, Charlie." He pushed away from his desk and started to stand up, hurt and insulted. It was always something; the past was always there to haunt him. Pretty sad to be pushing fifty and one of his only was friends embarrassed to admit the connection to her own family—one that he used to be a part of.

"Monroe—Bass…" she reached out and touched his arm to stop him. "Every time you and Miles get together something happens and you end up on the short end of the stick. I'm just trying to stop that from happening until things get more settled."

She felt a little guilty. She knew him well enough to know exactly what he was thinking and could tell how it offended him. And in some ways, he was right. How could she tell her mom that she'd befriended and was helping the man that they held responsible for Danny's death? Unbeknownst to him, they'd given him a pass on Ben. He'd wanted him brought to Philly alive—he and Miles had once even sent a friendly invitation to the now ruined city.

The past wasn't the only thing giving her pause, however. She was starting to like being here too much. Letting it become public knowledge outside of Nashville would add a certain permanency in her own mind and it would hurt too much to leave if something happened. If her family showed up, it would most likely be to drag her away. On top of that, if it was a secret, she could still live in her happy little delusion that the past didn't matter for just a while longer.

His silence told her exactly how much her reluctance bothered him. "The last thing you need right now is Miles showing up. It could cause problems within the Militia and…"

"And you're worried he'll say or do something and I'll go off the rails," he finished for her, looking away in embarrassment. No one liked having their mental and emotional instability pointed out to them, no matter how true it might be. "I'll inform Blanchard that your involvement is to remain confidential," he added with a resigned sigh.

"Thank you."

"You do realize that you're going to have to go to Austin at some point, right? It's going to be hard to hide your position in the Republic if you're actually going there," he pointed out. Monroe had already taken into consideration that if she left for Texas there was a risk she might not come back. Still, it couldn't be avoided. He couldn't very well leave now and she was the only other person he trusted to get it done.

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," she murmured thoughtfully before changing the subject and getting back to work.

When Charlie finally reached the point in her negotiations with Blanchard that the trip to Austin was necessary, Monroe should have realized that her keeping her presence a secret was the least of his concerns. It was almost March and still it would be months before they'd see any results from the upcoming planting season. Blanchard was balking a little, concerned that the fledgling new incarnation of the Republic was getting just a bit too far into the red. His work with Florida was at a standstill for the moment and the aid from Texas was all they had to hope for. The coming months would be crucial in gaining self-reliance.

It seemed the second her train pulled away from the station, everything went to hell. Reports came out of Michigan that a rebel faction had decided to re-arm themselves and that Gray had taken it upon himself to strike back. In doing so, the civilian population had suffered heavy casualties—especially among those that had remained law abiding throughout the fighting. Monroe immediately recalled the entire 14th division. Having no other choice, he pulled portions of other divisions to cover the region. General Adams had balked, of course.

His logic was that despite the massacre outside of Detroit, they didn't have enough soldiers to recall Grey. Monroe knew that Adams was right, but couldn't see any other option. They didn't have the diamonds to conscript replacement troops so all he could do was pull from the 11th in Ohio, the 9th in Wisconsin and the 3rd in Nashville.

By the time that Gray had arrived to answer for himself, the entire Republic was on the edge of revolting. They people wanted blood, but Monroe couldn't give it to them. If he started executing officers for behavior that had been allowed once upon a time, the entire Militia would lose their faith in him. That would leave the entire Republic vulnerable. He was damned no matter what he did. Instead, Gray and the officers under him that were involved were instead sent to a work camp. They needed the labor if they were ever going to finish repairing that dam on the Ohio River that threatened to burst at any given moment, and when you were broke there was no labor like free labor.

When all was said and done, Monroe ended up sending the lower level soldiers back into the field, but had split them up. He'd sent them out to replace the troops he'd pulled from Ohio and Wisconsin. He didn't want them close to him so he sent some to Indianapolis and pulled troops from there to replace those stationed in the capitol. The few officers that had actually tried to prevent the bloodshed found themselves suddenly in charge of the new 14th division.

By the time Charlie returned they were just recovering from the effects of the whole mess. She'd been gone a little over a month, and she found him as stressed out and on the edge as he ever was. At least the negotiations had been fairly successful. Blanchard had promised to send the additional aid and she'd even been able to work out better repayment terms.

He'd been working almost nonstop for weeks trying to fix the situation, sending Harris out with missives at all hours, driving both of them to the point of exhaustion. She could see it the second she stepped into his office. It was already almost time for dinner when she'd gotten back and she'd only intended on stopping in for a few minutes to tell him about the negotiations. She almost did a double take when she saw him sitting there. "That's it, get up from that chair. You're taking a break."

"I don't have the time, Charlie," he mumbled as he signed another missive. He began to review what he'd written before sending it on its way. In the past weeks, Harris had been forced to take on three more couriers just to handle the paperwork going from Monroe's desk to various locations in the city and beyond.

"You look like shit. When's the last time you really slept?" she argued as she plucked the pen out of his hand.

He ignored her and made a grab for the pen. He was too tired to chase her around the room for it, so when she jumped back to keep it out of his immediate reach he leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, with every indication that he was going to start pouting soon. "Come on Charlie, I can't do this right now. I've got people waiting for orders, so I kind of need to write them."

"The world won't end if they wait until tomorrow. I know you. You probably haven't slept for shit in days and you've probably been drinking your breakfast, lunch and dinner. You're going to eat something and then you're going to take the evening off. I swear I'll have Dr. Barnes drug you if you don't."

"And I'll help her hold you down so he can do it," Harris said as he came into the room. He was beyond exhausted from the constant running. The more Monroe worked, the more he had to as well. "I'll _never_ get a break otherwise."

Monroe offered them both an angry scowl. "You both do realize that I'm kind of _your_ boss, right? Not the other way around?"

Charlie threw her hands up in exasperation. "And do _you_ realize that we're your friends and we're only trying to help you since you're too stubborn and stupid to help yourself?" She reached over and snatched the bottle off the corner of his desk, handing it off to Harris to remove from the room. "I'll think you'll find that Sally has forgotten to send someone to on a whiskey run until you get some rest." She leaned over the desk and arched her brow in challenge.

Monroe was smart enough to know when he'd been outmaneuvered. With a resigned sigh he pushed away from his desk. He got up and headed to his quarters. "I swear I'm charging you both with treason, just as soon as I work up the energy to do it," he grumbled as he walked past them. Satisfied, Charlie went to see about getting him something to eat. By the time Sally had a plate sat up, he could barely keep his eyes open, but Charlie insisted on sitting there until he ate all the same.

"You're going to work yourself to death," she told him as she collected what was left of his dinner and went to set it on his desk, making a note to have a maid come for it later.

She rejoined him in the small sitting room outside of his bedroom. Despite her insistence that he not work, she knew he'd want to know how things went in Austin. He had a glass in his hand when she returned.

"What?" Monroe said innocently enough at the glare she shot him. "I've been a functioning alcoholic for over twenty-five years. You don't think I have it hidden everywhere? I guarantee you that Miles have bottles all over the place too—he'd have to, considering he lives with your mother." It was no secret that Rachel disapproved of Miles' tendency to overindulge. Monroe always figured that it reminded her too much of who Miles used to drink with—namely, him.

"If you keep it up, you're going to drink yourself to death way before the work and the stress do it," she snapped.

"And there'd be much rejoicing," he commented as got up to refill his glass and bring her one as well. She was, after all a Matheson. He wondered if she ever realized that Ben had always shared his brother's love of whiskey—albeit with a lot more discretion.

"Why do you always do that?" Charlie asked as she took the offered drink.

He settled back into his chair. "Do what?"

"You know exactly what. Whenever any of us show any concern for your sorry ass, you completely deflect it."

Monroe only shrugged. "Because you shouldn't care. I don't deserve it and you'll only regret it later. For the most part, everyone else who ever gave a shit has." Uncomfortable, he got up and went to retreat, obviously dismissing her.

She followed him and stopped him in the doorway, her hand on his shoulder. Unable to help himself, he turned to face her. "Well that's too damn bad, because I _do_ care."

He didn't know why but those words seemed to lash at him more than any insult could have. Her proclamation had a lump forming in his throat. Before he even realized what he was doing, Monroe reached out and brushed a lock of hair back behind her ear. Instead of pulling back, she only seemed to lean in closer. He opened his mouth to say something, but for the life of him couldn't think of a single word to say.

"You look like you're ready to drop right here," she murmured. "Promise me you'll at least try to sleep?" When he nodded his reply she stood on her toes and pressed her lips gently to his. It was just for a half a second and was as chaste of a kiss as it could be, but it was still a kiss none the less. "Good night then, Bass."

"Charlie," he called after her as she started to walk away. She didn't turn back around, but stopped. "Thank you… for caring."

He stood in the doorway and watched her retreat; his hands clenched to stop him from doing something stupid. A few minutes later he managed to crawl into bed without further incident or another drink. Before giving in to sleep, his hand came up to his lips. _What the hell did she do that for?_


	7. Just Trying to Be Helpful

**A/N: As promised, the slow burn has finally led to something. Rating on ffnet upped to M. Our boy can only resist temptation for so long, especially when that temptation has finally decided to force a confrontation. Enjoy the smutty goodness! Also, please excuse errors. I don't use a beta and I was trying to edit while the kids were running around. I just wanted to get the darn chapter up already!**

Despite promises to Charlie to take some time to wind down, Monroe still felt like he'd been burning at both ends over the next several weeks. After that night she'd kissed him, he spent as much time worrying about keeping himself under control and preventing a repeat of that evening as he did worrying about the Republic. It had thrown him off balance for several days. As much as he wished it meant something, he couldn't let it. That didn't stop him from spending more time than he ought to wondering exactly what it had meant, however.

So, he'd fumbled around her for a day or two, avoided her for a few more and ultimately moved his private quarters to the floor above hers, just to make sure he kept himself put at night. The temptation to confront her about it at inappropriate hours was just too much to risk having her so close. Of course he didn't want to make it seem like he was running away from her, so he'd simply expanded is office take over all three rooms.

When she'd questioned him, he'd simply told her that if she wanted him to stop working at some point, he needed to separate his living space from his work space and that his office was so crowded it was making him feel claustrophobic with so many people running in and out all day. In his mind, there was no way she could argue with that logic. It was bullshit, but he'd never willingly admit that he was essentially terrified of a woman half his age or his increasingly complicated feelings for her.

Charlie let him get away with that excuse for almost two weeks before she decided to confront him on it. She'd been tossing and turning in bed all night. Every time she was almost asleep she'd hear him moving about above her. This was the fourth night in a row she'd suffered through his movements and was quite simply fed up.

He was sitting on the couch in his front room. His bare feet were up on the coffee table, a glass of whiskey in one hand and a stack of reports in his lap. When she barged in the door, he didn't even have time to hide the paperwork. "Ah ha! I knew it!"

Monroe looked up at her, refusing to act guilty. After all, it was the middle of the night and she was in his private quarters. She was the one who should be in trouble, not him—or so he kept telling himself. "You do realize it's like two in the morning, right?" His words slurred just a little. He'd been drinking since retreating shortly after dinner, but had yet to have enough to keep both the state of the Republic or her out of his mind so he could sleep.

She shut the door and crossed the room to stand in front of him, "Actually it's closer to three, so you're the one who's lost track of time." She hadn't actually been inside his new quarters and she had to make a concentrated effort not to be impressed by them. They were actually quite a bit bigger and nicer than his old ones, if this room was of any indication. "What happened to _I'm only moving so I can go off-duty at night_?"

Monroe narrowed his eyes at the way she mimicked him. If it were any other circumstance, he might have found it funny. As it was, her presence now served to only make him a little nervous and had the unwanted side effect of sobering him instantly. How was he supposed to keep his head straight when she stood there before him, her hands on her hips, clad in only a thin tank top and an old pair of sweatpants? "I was—I mean, I…"

"Save the bullshit. You moved up here so we wouldn't catch you doing this," she snapped as she gestured to the half empty bottle and a second stack of papers that sat on the coffee table. "You're supposed to stop the twenty-hour work days before you drive yourself nuts."

_Yeah, because work's the only thing doing that_, he thought to himself. Monroe snatched the bottle up before Charlie had a chance to take it from him. He could tell that's where this was headed. It was a childish move on his part to be sure, but if it saved him his whiskey so be it. "Back off, Charlie. I've told you before; I don't have time to take a break."

She just glared at him. The shadows under his eyes were getting darker by the day and the stress was still taking its toll. She knew it and so did Harris. If the rest of the higher ups started to pick up on it, it could spell disaster—especially when there was already dissension in the ranks. "You're burning out. Can't you see that? You can't do it all."

She sat down next to him on the sofa, picking up a folder to get it out of her way. "You brought me here because you needed help. I'm not a politician and we both know it. Your problem has never been the past coming back to haunt you or that you're not fit to rule—that's just an excuse. Your problem is that you can't handle the stress of it, and you're too proud to admit it." Her tone had softened considerably. "No one could handle this all on their own. You don't need an advisor or a chief of staff. You need dozens of people to help run all of this. That's how Texas works and from what I've read, that's how the old U.S. ran as well.

"But, you're surrounded by enough backstabbing idiots that you can't delegate the work out, I get it." Reaching out, she took a risk and reached up to touch his cheek. "Trips to Austin aside, _this _is why I'm here—you have to slow down, because _this_ is what's going to turn you back into _him._"

He wanted to lean into her touch. He craved it like he craved another drink or his next breath, but Monroe couldn't let himself go down that road. Instead of giving in to that urge he pulled back from her—but not before hesitating just long enough for Charlie to see through the act. "I brought you here to help me straighten out this mess and to be an emergency successor so Connor didn't get any bright ideas. I didn't write to you because I needed a babysitter," he insisted.

Charlie shook her head. "Give me some credit, Bass. I'm smart enough to read between the lines, so cut the crap. When you wrote that letter, you were tired and lonely and you just wanted someone in this with you that gave a damn." She inched closer to him. "Your exact words were that you needed an advisor that wasn't afraid to speak candidly. This is me doing exactly that. I'm your friend—let me help you."

When Monroe's fight or flight instincts typically kicked in, he almost exclusively reacted with the former, but her proximity had him retreating out of self-preservation. He slowly scooted further towards the end of the couch, "What- what are you doing?" he stammered when Charlie followed him. He was almost sitting on the arm rest now and had nowhere else to go unless he got up completely. He wasn't willing to look like a total coward—yet.

"Why do you always back away from me? It's like you slip up and let me in and then run away as fast as you can. Why are you trying so hard to act like you don't want something more? Haven't we gotten past that?" The look in her eyes and softness of her voice made her look so wounded and vulnerable.

He swallowed nervously. He needed to do something with his hands to keep them from reaching out of their own volition, so he reached for the bottle of whiskey, almost knocking over in the process. He poured himself a drink, his hands shaking a little. He had only one defense left in his rapidly diminishing playbook: lie. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said as he downed the contents of his glass.

"Bullshit," she said as she took the glass out of his hand, setting it on the coffee table. "It's like after the night I dragged you out with me. One minute we were dancing and you were actually having fun for once. The next, you clammed up, but when you walked me to my room when we got back and for a second there…" _He what? Did you imagine it?_ "Why did you back off like that?"

"I… Listen, we were both drinking that night. I didn't want to take advantage of you. That's not why you're here. I have more respect for you than that." _Is this really happening?_

Charlie shrank back just a little, her ego slightly deflated. "So you really don't think of me that way?" She was beginning to have her doubts about this mess she'd just created. In her experience when a man said something about having respect, it was usually a nice way of letting a woman know he wasn't interested—the guy version of the friend zone.

_Keep your mouth shut. She just gave you an out, take it stupid!_ "You have no idea how hard it is to _not _think of you like that— and I swear you go out of your way to make it an uphill battle." He started to panic the moment he realized what he was saying. _What are you doing, dummy? Why did you say that?_

His ill-timed confession gave her all the encouragement she needed. Charlie leaned forward and pressed her mouth to his. Monroe's eyes shut of their own accord and for a few minutes their lips moved gently together and the rest of the room seemed to fade away. He let it go on just like that, not deepening the kiss, just savoring before he broke it off. His eyes fluttered open and were immediately captured in her gaze.

"Charlie, I don't… We can't… Fuck." The last of his willpower dissipated and he yanked her across his lap. Hand cupping the back of her head, he pulled her lips to his and gave in to almost three years of yearning. Her gasp of surprise gave him the opening he needed to delve in and he didn't let it go to waste. The instant their tongues met, his brain stopped working and instinct took over. He tangled his hands in her hair, groaning as he tasted her and explored her mouth with all the desperation he'd been trying so hard to hide.

Charlie kissed him back with everything she had, twisting in his arms to straddle his lap. She rested one hand on his chest, feeling his heart hammering beneath it. She could feel the hardness growing under her and she ground down on it, whimpering as she did so.

Monroe slid one hand down her back, fingers digging in and massaging her until it rested at her waist. Encouraged and anxious to remove all barriers between them, she found the bottom of his tee shirt. She started to yank it up. He leaned forward and broke away long enough to work it over his head, tossing it aside.

Charlie took this as the perfect opportunity to remove her own. Once feed from the offending material, they came together again. Panting and chests heaving, their lips melted together briefly before he moved down, pressing his lips down the column of her neck, tasting the skin as he worked towards her breasts, groaning at the sight of her.

His calloused palms moved deliciously along her soft skin and she arched her back, encouraging him further. She moaned as his tongue ran across one pert nipple and then the other. "Beautiful," he murmured before drawing one into his mouth and suckling gently. Her sharp intake of breath at the stimulation had him sucking harder, lightly scraping it with his teeth, overwhelming her senses. He flicked her nipple a few more times with his tongue and then slid his hands to her hips, lifting her off of him.

Charlie swayed a little on her feet, her eyes glazed with passion. Monroe couldn't help but grin in satisfaction. He bent his head to pressed light kisses on her flat stomach as he eased her pants down; her panties following quickly after. She kicked them away and stood before him completely nude and waiting for him to touch her, her skin flush with her arousal.

He parted her folds and found her entrance. She soaked his fingers as he plied her. He looked up at her and saw how she watched, entranced by the sight of his hand caressing her intimately. He waited until she looked into his eyes and held her gaze. With his free hand he supported her at the small of her back and he rested his head against her, his beard ticking her belly.

With each breath, Charlie let out a low moan. She moved over his hand and closed her eyes, allowing herself to just feel. When she thought her legs might buckle under her, she stepped back and grabbed his hands and pulled at him. Taking the hint, Monroe slowly stood, his arms coming around her and mouth lowering to hers. Her hands went to his belt and she began to undo it frantically, fingers fumbling in her haste. When she finally worked it free she moved on to undo his pants.

She shoved them down along with his boxers and they fell to the floor. He stepped out of them, groaning as her hand came up to find his throbbing length. She wrapped her hand around it and began to stroke him, running her palm over the tip each time she reached it. He thrust into her hand several times. Deciding enough was enough; he pulled her hand off of him before he embarrassed them both and began to pull her towards the door that led further into his quarters. "Bedroom," he moaned against her lips.

They slowly made their way across the room and into the next, a small room that he'd converted into a study. They made it only to the far side of the room when he backed her into a small table by the door. Rather than taking her further into the bedroom, he simply lifted her by the waist and set her on top of it.

Charlie wrapped her legs around him, gasping in anticipation as he pressed up against her. Foreheads resting together, their eyes locked again as she reached down to guide him home. With one thrust he filled her. The instant he felt her tight walls gripping him, the thick haze of passion cleared just enough for him to realize the meaning behind what was happening.

Monroe kissed her tenderly and stood there, completely still inside her. Time lost meaning as they stayed that way, locked together. Finally when she could take it no longer, Charlie began to strain against him; he slowly pulled back out and then slammed into her. She flung her arms around his neck and dug her heels into his ass, encouraging him and meeting him each time he surged forward to fill her.

He wrapped an arm around her, his hand resting at her waist and braced himself on the wall with the other so that he didn't crush her against it. They stared into each other's eyes in the dim light of the lamp he'd left burning in as they moved together, breaths hitching and hearts pounding.

As she got closer Charlie's gasps and moans grew louder and she brought her hands down to his ass, joining her heels in trying to hold him deep inside her. He began to grind against her, remaining deeply within, his pelvis rubbing exquisitely against her clit as he moved in a slow circular motion.

He felt everything tighten around him, telling him she was almost there. He was getting closer himself and didn't know how much more he could take as he got closer to the inevitable. "I want to come inside you," he practically begged as she started to come apart. He knew it was a stupid idea, but if he was going to hell, he might as well go all the way.

She dug her nails into his flesh, "Yes. Do it," she moaned. Now totally lost to anything other than her, Monroe's lips sought hers again and he pulled back, thrusting rapidly and taking them both the rest of the way. Charlie shuddered and quivered in his arms, letting his name escape her lips.

Knowing she was finding her release, he let himself go. He slammed into her a few more times and then and he exploded, shooting himself inside as she continued to clamp down on him, riding out there rest of her orgasm. As he came, he tightened his arm around her and dug his fingers in, letting out a growl of satisfaction.

He slumped against her, completely spent. For several minutes they stayed this way, his hand still braced next to her head on the wall, still buried inside her. Charlie only could just sit there, leaning back limp and sated. Panting, he tried to catch his breath while he came down from the high of it enough to move. "Sorry. Bedroom was too far," he said as he pulled out of her and picked her up. He carried her the rest of the way and deposited her gently on the bed.

He stood there for a moment and watched her as she smiled up at him, her eyes half closed and hazy. When she held her arms open to him, he practically dove into the bed to join her. He leaned over and kissed her again. Charlie brought her hand up to caress his cheek as their lips moved together. The kiss was slow and tender. When it ended, Monroe rolled onto his back, taking her with him.

She settled herself in his arms, turning to rest her head on his chest. She could hear the steady beating of her heart, the pace of it still elevated from their lovemaking. Monroe tipped her chin up with gentle fingers and searched her face, trying to read what she was thinking. "About time you _finally_ made a move," she mocked as a smile spread across her face.

He had to laugh at that. This woman would never cut him any slack, that was for sure. "I was working my way up to it," he insisted lightly.

"Sure you were. If that's true than it's official;" Charlie rolled her eyes at him, "glaciers move faster than you do."

He bent his head forward and silenced her with his lips and tongue. "Learn to be more patient," he whispered against her temple as he placed one last kiss there before settling back down against the pillow.

She couldn't help but tease him. "What happened to the cool and confident womanizer? The stories I've heard, and from what I saw in Texas: the infamous romantic exploits of Sebastian Monroe."

"You have a very strange definition of pillow talk," he muttered with a shake of his head.

Charlie moved to look at him. "In all seriousness, why did it take so long to get us here? I've seen you pick up a woman less than an hour after meeting her, but I've been waiting for you to figure it out for almost six months now."

"Well, it's different, I guess." He sighed as he tried to come up with the words to explain it. "You have an itch, so you scratch it. As long as she's pretty and clean and willing, it's all in good fun."

"Really?" she drew the word out as if she was challenging him somehow.

He stroked her arm lightly with his thumb as he continued, not even aware really that he was doing it. "But this—when it means something…"

Charlie felt her heart skip a beat. She hadn't expected him to answer like that. "What _does_ it mean?" She could feel him tensing up a little at the question. Worried that she may have pushed him a bit far, she rolled off of him, propping herself up on one elbow to study him. He was staring up at the ceiling, his brow furrowed as he considered her question. "I'm sorry; you don't have to answer that."

"No it's…" hesitating again, he rolled over and faced her, his position mimicking mirroring hers. "It's no secret that I wanted you. Hell, according to Harris, there isn't a person on the compound that hasn't figured it out yet. But I care about you—in a lot of different ways. I've been driving myself crazy trying to not think about doing this."

"Yeah, how'd that work out for you?"

"Mixed results." He laughed at the absurdity of her interruption. "Do you want to hear this or not?" He waited for her to don a more serious demeanor and nod for him to continue.

"You're my friend Charlie and what's weird is that you're probably one of the best friends I've ever had." He sounded almost incredulous as he said it, as if he was just coming to that realization himself. "I'm a hopelessly flawed man, but somehow you still _accepted_ me when no one else did and gave me the benefit of the doubt—even Miles wouldn't do that. I don't want _this_ to ruin that. It's very important to me and that's one of the main reasons why I've tried to pretend I didn't want this so badly."

He leaned forward and kissed her again, his intent quite clear. Not to be one to let a man lead, Charlie climbed atop him, determined to take control. They went slower this time, working each other up and finishing one right after the other. By the time she slipped off of him, they were both out of breath and boneless.

"If I'd have known that this was all it took to get you to stop working, I'd have shown up in the middle of the night months ago," she said as she nipped playfully at his ear.

Monroe rolled over on his side, pulling her to him and wrapping an arm around her waist. "Oh, so this was just all for the greater good?" he asked with a tired laugh.

She sighed in contentment as she snuggled in. "Altruism has its own rewards."

"If you benefit from it, it's not altruistic," he murmured into the side of her neck, his lips lightly grazing her below her ear. "Now quit squirming and go to sleep."


	8. Good Luck, Bad Luck? Who Knows?

Monroe woke up later than normal to the sound of someone banging on the door. He sat up and looked down at Charlie's still sleeping form. It took him several moments (and a few more knocks) to come to life enough to get out of bed. After ducking into the small washroom and relieving himself, he stumbled over to the dresser and picked up his pocket watch. "Shit!" he exclaimed. It was past ten and he'd called for a meeting at nine with the Militia's higher counsel. It just now registered that the banging on his door was because he'd slept right through the damn thing.

The last thing he needed was anyone barging in and seeing with whom he'd spent the night. "Hold on a minute!" he called out as he rushed over to the closet and started pulling out a clean uniform.

Charlie picked that moment to sit up, stretching her sore muscles, a smile on her face as she remembered how they'd gotten into that condition. "What time is it?" she yawned.

"Late—it's almost quarter after ten." His voice was muffled as he yanked a shirt down over his head. He sat down on the edge of the bed and started pulling on his pants. "And you have made me miss a meeting," he added as he leaned over to give her a light kiss.

Charlie padded across his bedroom, intent on finding her clothes in the front room. She turned when grabbed her hand to stop her. "What?"

"Someone's been banging on that door for the past ten minutes. It's probably one of Harris' boys on the other side of that door. You can't be seen in here." He finished dressing and then went to go fetch her clothes.

She didn't look very happy when he returned. "While I'd appreciate being dressed before anyone barges in, explain to me exactly _why_ you're that terrified of us getting caught?"

"It's not what you think, Charlie." He sat down to pull on his boots. "It doesn't matter what your title is, you're essentially second in command here. President or not, I can't be caught like this with you."

Charlie knew he was right, but something about the Republic first attitude grated on her. "What are they going to do? Fire you?"

He shot her a heated glance. Finishing up with his boots he stood and went over to her. "I still have to be held accountable. Refusing to answer for my actions got me into a lot of trouble the last time. On top of that, if it gets out that we're sleeping together and something happens to me, the Counsel may very well back Connor instead of you." He brushed her cheek with his thumb tenderly. "That could very well get you killed. I can't risk your safety."

Charlie sighed, nodding her head. Not wanting to ruin the morning after, she stood on her toes and kissed him. Before she knew it, he was backing her up towards the bed, a growl in his throat. The pounding on the door broke them apart. "Go to your meeting," she said, smiling up at him.

He reluctantly left her, throwing open the door. Sure enough, one of Harris' men was there. "Go ahead and tell them I'm on my way," he barked at him, sending the poor kid scurrying off. _Am I really that scary?_ He wondered as he headed down the hall.

He ran into Harris as he worked his way to the other side of the compound. "Private Jacobs sure seemed skittish a few moments ago," his secretary commented as they both headed towards the main wing of the capital.

"You know better than to hire someone that spooks that easy," Monroe said with a shrug.

Harris laughed. "You seem… well rested," the younger man said with a knowing smirk.

"I have no idea what you mean."

"Uh huh. Hey when you see Charlie, tell her I rescheduled our meet and greet with Blanchard's man. I went looking for her, but her quarters were empty," he said innocently.

Monroe stopped short. "What were you doing in her quarters?" He couldn't quite help the little spark anger that flared up when he thought of Harris standing in her bedroom.

"Really? _That's_ what you're worried about? Not my type, in case you needed reminding." Harris shook his head at him, clearly amused. "So… you finally got your head out of your ass and went for her."

Both men started walking again. "You know, a friend would know when to keep his mouth shut," Monroe commented lightly. "You know, especially when gossip could cause problems."

"A _friend_ would give me a heads up so I knew ahead of time to cover for him. But, that's neither here nor there," Harris countered. "I'm glad the two of you finally caved. You really do look happier this morning." With that he offered a half-assed salute and went down the left corridor, while Monroe's meeting would take him the opposite direction.

"I am," he called after his secretary. Feeling really good for the first time in a long time, he opened the door into the conference room. "Sorry to keep you waiting, boys. Let's get to work," he said as he walked into the room, offering them all a salute so they could sit down.

Over the next week, Monroe found that he was getting less and less work done. At first he figured it was just because of the newness of it all. For one thing, he'd gone so long without a woman; it was like his libido was making up for lost time. For another, well it was Charlie. Once he'd finally given in, it was like he couldn't get enough of her. He figured after a few days, he'd get it out of his system and things would start getting back to some semblance of normal.

He couldn't deny that he'd slept better in the past seven days than, well probably ever. Harris' couriers seemed a lot less frightened of him, which he hadn't decided was necessarily a good thing, but it was nice to walk into a room without everyone scampering out of his way.

It was not quite noon and he was supposed to be writing a letter to the leader of the largest and loudest faction in Michigan. The man had asked for additional aid in exchange for ceasefire until their grievances could be addressed. Instead of working on that reply he found himself instead nuzzling Charlie's inner thigh as she sat with her shirt and bra pushed up and her pants discarded under his desk. As he closed his eyes and kissed the sensitive skin there, it briefly occurred to him that he might have a serious problem.

Those thoughts flew out of his mind as he lowered his mouth to her, inwardly smiling when she began to gasp and writhe under him. When she couldn't take it any longer, he stood and kicked his chair behind him, sending it flying into the window behind him. Somewhere in the back of his mind he considered himself lucky it didn't break.

_Yep, I'm in big trouble, _he thought, as he unzipped his pants and let them drop, losing himself in the moment. It didn't take long for her to come apart around him, leaving him free to let himself lose control. "God damn," he growled as he went over the edge and emptied himself deep inside her. The intensity of his release left him feeling drained and dizzy.

Monroe pulled out of her and stumbled back to find his chair, almost falling before he finally got into it. He leaned back, staring at the ceiling while he tried to catch his breath. Charlie fared no better, sprawled out on his desk with a satisfied smile on her face. "Good thing it's almost time for lunch, I'm starving now," he chuckled as he looked her over.

Charlie sat up and looked around the room. At some point he'd sent an inkwell flying and it was on the floor several feet away, having spilt all over the rug. There were papers scattered everywhere, including the long abandoned correspondence. Cocking her head to one side, she twisted to stare at the door that led to the hallway. "Bass? I think someone's coming down the hall," she finally said.

He looked from her to the door and then back again. "Hide," he suggested.

Charlie ran for what was once his sitting room, but was now a small filing room "Shit! My pants," she said with a loud whisper.

He looked down and found them, balling them up and tossing them too her as he rolled his chair forward. They were out of time and he had no time to adjust his own clothing. The footsteps had stopped just outside the door. No sooner did Charlie close the other door than a brief knock was followed by the door opening to reveal one of the maids bringing the aforementioned lunch.

"Sir," she said happily as she headed towards his old rooms. "Oh, I thought Captain Matheson was working through lunch with you today," she added with a frown. She'd brought lunch for two and now she'd have to go make another tray for her.

"Thank you- Mary is it?" he said a little louder than necessary. "The captain will be back shortly. Please leave it on the table in the other room," he added, wincing as he heard the door to his old bedroom close. Fortunately, the young woman didn't seem to notice. Monroe took the opportunity to pull up his pants and zip them, managing to sit back down just before she returned.

"Yes sir. Will there be anything else sir?" She eyed him, as if she was just noting that there was something off.

"No. Thank you," he said dismissing her. When the maid had gone, Monroe got up and went into the next room. Charlie was dressed and already digging into the food that Mary had left. "Planning on sharing that?"

"If you ask nicely."

He took a seat next to her and helped himself. "We've got to start being a little careful."

"You started it," she reminded him. "But, you're right. Harris said that there are already a few members of the counsel that suspect something was going on long before anything actually happened. The last thing you need is their suspicions being confirmed."

"That's the last thing either of us needs. I told you, it's not just about the Republic. It's about keeping a target off your back." They ate in comfortable silence for a while. "You know, maybe you're right about giving the counsel some responsibilities. At least it would keep them too busy to gossip about what I do in my free time—or before lunch."

This had her brightening. He was finally starting to see. "Well it's about time," she said quietly as she reached for the other half of his sandwich.

"Hey, I was going to eat that."

"Next time, eat faster," she shrugged as she took a bite.

He opened his mouth to offer further protest when someone else knocked on the door. With a sigh he got up and sat back down at his desk. "Come!"

The door opened to reveal a messenger, likely one of Harris'. This one barely looked old enough to even be in the militia. He just stood in the doorway looking like he was on the way to his execution.

"Well?" Monroe said, waiting for the kid to do something. "I'm kind of busy, so out with it," he added when the messenger continued to stand there.

"A message just arrived from Major Bradley with the 4th Indy. Connor Bennett has escaped custody in Jasper," he said, quite obviously afraid of how he would react.

Monroe couldn't quite blame him for that. He'd developed quite the reputation for shooting the messenger (figuratively and literally) in Philly. No amount of recent good moods could have completely removed that from the collective conscious of the Militia. If he had to guess, he'd say that this poor kid had drawn the short straw when it came to delivering this message. "How long ago?"

The corporal swallowed nervously. "Three days."

Monroe rubbed his eyes again and leaned his head back on the cushion behind him. _What to do?_ "Dammit," he said under his breath.

"Your orders, sir?" the kid ventured warily.

He stared blankly ahead for several minutes, fighting the urge to go ballistic. It would only serve to scare the poor kid in front of him. "Find him—I don't care what it takes. And when he's in custody I want him brought to Nashville to face charges," he finally ordered. He offered the corporal a salute, dismissing him.

As soon as the door closed behind the messenger, Charlie came out from the next room. "So he's going to make a move now after all these months?" She sank down on in the chair across from his desk.

The mood from before had been effectively ruined. He yanked open his desk drawer and grabbed a bottle of whiskey. With shaking hands he opened the bottle and took a drink directly from it. His head was already beginning to pound as he considered what his son's escape could mean.

For the thousandth time since he'd begun the stupid experiment he called a republic, he found himself regretting ever going down the Mexico. Miles had been right; he should have left well enough alone. Hell, Rachel had been right; it didn't matter where he ended up—Connor was his blood. He had a sneaking suspicion that the militia didn't need to go out looking for his progeny. More than likely the little psycho was headed right for them.

"Bass? Are you okay?" she asked finally.

"I need to go over security protocols," he said quietly. His features looked more drawn than ever. "You should go work on our response to the rebels up north. This will keep me busy the rest of the day."

Charlie looked at him sadly. All it took was something else to happen and the walls had immediately come back up. "You know I'm here when you need me," she said reluctantly and she left him alone.

The implications of what would happen if Connor had somehow found out about Charlie's position suddenly hit him. If his son had found out that Charlie was to succeed him in the event of his untimely end, that meant that she was just as big of a target he. If he somehow had found out that they were sleeping together, it would only be worse. Because there had once been something going on between Charlie and his son, it was possible that Connor would take it personally.

Monroe started to pace the room, images of her being harmed whirling in his mind. He bolted out the door. Finding a guard at the entrance to the residential wing on the bottom floor, he ordered that Harris be sent for immediately. A half hour later the captain appeared in Monroe's office, having been dragged away from a meeting Monroe had pawned off on him.

"I heard," he said grimly as he shut the door behind him. "How do you want to handle it?"

"I want security for Charlie's floor doubled until Connor has been found. She goes nowhere without a detail and I want two guards—people you trust personally stationed outside her quarters at all times, effective yesterday."

The young man resisted the stupid grin that threatened to escape his features. He knew their commander-in-chief had been trying to deny his interest there for months, but the urgency of the command spoke volumes. Whatever was between them, it was definitely more than sex. "You realize this is going to piss her off, right?"

"That's too bad," he snapped, not in the mood for secretary's amusement. "She doesn't have any say in this."

"And your own security? More than likely you'd be his intended target if he tries anything, not her. Or will you be sharing a detail?"

Monroe hesitated. He realized that the need for discretion was stronger now than ever. If Connor really was making a move then it was vital that no one knew about them. On top of that he still hated the idea of having a detail constantly buzzing around him. He knew what they needed to do, as much as he didn't like it. "No, we will not. Assign two men per stairwell between my floor and Charlie's. That's close enough for them to do their job."

"I'll send your orders to Major Levins immediately," Harris said with a nod as he headed out the door to seek out the man charged with overseeing security for the compound.

Over the next several days, they waited for word. It was all they could really do. Charlie had understood his need to keep them apart at night. If Connor was coming, they needed to be careful and guards weren't above gossip. But then he'd backed off completely. To her it was like he was going through the motions and had simply decided to pretend that they hadn't just spent a week practically living in each other's pockets.

She'd finally gotten fed up and had said something to him about it. All he'd said was that they'd made a mistake. She'd walked away hurt and angry. It had also been the last time he'd worked outside his private quarters.

The wound Monroe had been forced to inflict upon her had made him sick to his stomach. The fact was, he couldn't afford to be distracted if he was going to keep her alive. The thought of her being hurt or killed because of their relationship terrified him as much, if not more than the thought of Connor getting his hands on the Republic. He couldn't take that risk, no matter how much it hurt to ruin things between them. He'd rather have her hating him and alive than lying next to him and dead.

A few weeks after news of Connor's escape reached them, Adams sent a report stating that all evidence pointed to Connor having headed northeast. From what they could tell he was fleeing the Republic, most likely to Canada. While the majority of the staff breathed a sigh of relief, Monroe wasn't so sure. "Keep up current levels of security until we have proof," he ordered.

Later that same night, he found himself once again in his cold lonely bed. It had only been a week; seven unbelievably happy days but after years of waiting she'd quickly become a focal point in his life. Now he felt like there was a hole where she was missing. She wasn't even speaking to him now.

He'd asked for her to come to him for something work related twice in the past several days and she'd denied him both times. His greatest fear had come to pass and their taking their relationship forward had ruined everything they'd shared beforehand. He missed her body next to him at night, but he also missed her friendship during the waking hours.

Ever since he'd pushed her away, he found himself staring at the ceiling for hours before falling asleep. This night was no exception. He was finally dozing off when he got the sudden feeling that he wasn't alone. Instinct had him reaching for the gun in his nightstand, but his hand never reached the handle of the drawer. "Don't even think about it," came a gravely whisper. Despite the intruder's attempt to disguise his voice, Monroe knew it anywhere.

"Oh, what the hell?" he practically whined as he reached for the matches he kept by the lamp on the table. He shook his head in disgust at Miles as he turned the wick up, his eyes squinting as the light reached them. "We've already been here and done this. Don't you get bored doing the same things over and over again?"


	9. Tautology: Repetition is repetitive

**A/N: Well, I'd hoped to have this up a week ago, but the dialog just wasn't flowing well and I swear every time I sat down to work on it another distraction popped up (and the hubby seems to have an uncanny ability to transform into a chatterbox only when I write). **

**I'm still not sure I'm 100% happy with it, but if I don't post it now, it will never get up, so here we go. This was much longer than I'd intended (my initial goal was to keep all chapters between 1500 and 2000 words, but that doesn't seem to be working out). **

**Thanks again to everyone that has left feedback for this story so far!**

_We've already been here and done this. Don't you get bored doing the same things over and over again?_

Monroe just sat there, tangled in his sheets and waited for Miles to say or do something—anything. It felt like they were frozen in time—he just sitting there and staring, heartbroken that it had come to this once more; Miles just standing there his eyes cold and the tightly coiled rage emanating off of him.

Miles took a step forward further into the room. "You know what they say, Bass. Learn from history or you're doomed to repeat it."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" he ask as he got out of bed, his wary gaze never leaving the man that he'd once thought he could count on no matter what.

"That's close enough," Miles said, ignoring the question for the time being.

"Relax. I'm just getting dressed. I'm not going to stand here buck ass naked while you decide if you're going to shoot me or not." With one last sidelong glance, he reached for the dresser drawer. Miles moved quickly and got there first, effectively stopping him.

"I will shoot you," he said through clenched teeth. He hadn't expected him to be so Bass-like. This wasn't like before at all. The last time he'd been visibly nuts. It was like he'd either learned how to control himself a little better, or he'd just gotten better at hiding it.

With a sad shake of his head, he yanked the dresser open and pulled out his old pair of jeans. They'd have to do for now. They were the only thing he kept in that particular drawer, and being on the bottom it didn't have a weapon. The last thing he wanted was to go for some boxers and Miles mistake it as an attempt to pull a fast one. He'd only shoot first and ask questions later.

He started to yank them on, never taking his eyes off of his former friend. "So are you at least going to tell me why this time?" he asked as he zipped them up.

"You have the balls to kidnap my niece, but not the brains to figure out that's why I'm pissed?" He jabbed the barrel of the gun into his back and forced him through the study and into the front sitting room. "Light the lamp," he instructed as soon as they'd cleared the doorway.

Monroe went to the end table and did as he was told. As he did, his mind began to whirl. Miles had obviously found out about Charlie, but how? It was sickening that the man automatically assumed that the only reason she could possibly be here was by force. It spoke volumes about Miles' opinion of him. What it didn't tell him was _how_ he'd found out.

If he'd found out from Blanchard or anyone else in Austin then he'd have known she'd been in Texas. There's no way he could make that accusation if that were the case. The only other way he could have found out was from Connor. That meant that either his son had either gone to Texas or Miles had been involved in his escape. He didn't believe for a second that his presence in Nashville, after all those months of begging for him to come was a coincidence now. It was just too perfectly timed.

"You've got it all wrong about Charlie, Miles. She's here of her own free will. I-"

"Shut up and take a seat," Miles ordered. He waited for Monroe to sink down onto the sofa and then sat down on an armchair on the other side of the coffee table.

"Listen, I don't know where you're getting your information, but you're wrong. I can take you to her, she'll tell you herself."

Miles laughed. "He thought you'd say something like that." He paused to lean forward in his chair. "You can give her any official title you want. You've done that to prisoners before just to justify their presence. Why would she be any different?"

"Because _I'm_ different," Monroe said with no little indigence. He jumped to his feet. "You have some nerve coming here and presuming to know anything about me or her, or about the Republic."

Miles gestured with the gun for him to sit back down. He waited for compliance before he responded. "Really? I think your own son would have a good idea what's going on. And, from what I've heard this new Republic is shaping up to be no better than the last."

"We've had some problems, sure. There's been a food shortage and people get hungry and they get angry. For the most part, the problems have been isolated to the lakes, but-"

"And the best way to deal with that is shoot up a village?" Miles arched a brow, daring him to deny it.

Monroe flinched. "I didn't order it. I ordered Gray to stand down, but he went on the attack anyway. He's been tried and punished for it, along with everyone else involved. I've been negotiating with the rebels, Charlie's been helping me. If you'd just get your head out of your ass and listen…"

Miles just sneered at him. "You know what? I don't care, Bass. Shoot up towns, kill your people, starve them, or whatever it is you're doing. All I want is Charlie back. If she's unharmed, I'll let you live long enough to try and protect your demented little throne from your kid."

_So he is here…_ He let the mask fall into place. Even if he had nothing left, he still had pride. He couldn't let Miles know how much that stung. He got up and headed over to the liquor cabinet. "I need a drink," he grumbled as he opened it up and started to rifle through it. "Well that answers one question. I should have known it was you. Kid's not smart enough to plan an escape and over his tracks."

"Well, it's a hell of a lot easier finding a prisoner when you have someone that knows where to look," he acknowledged. "As soon as I hear the signal that they've got her-"

"You sent Connor to find her?" he asked, his heart leaping into his chest. "Miles, do whatever you want to me, but you can't let him anywhere near her." His hand closed on what he was looking for. He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths to steady himself.

"Do you really think I'm that stupid, Bass?"

Monroe knew it was now or never, so he took his chance. He abruptly turned, raising his arm as he did so. The gun he held was already loaded and ready. "We can sit here and go back and forth about this until one of us pulls the trigger, or we can get to her before Connor does. If he finds her, he'll kill her."

"And why would he do that, Bass? Why kill her when he's the one that told me she was here in the first place?"

Monroe locked eyes with him and silently pleaded that Miles would believe him. "Because she's next in line for the presidency if something happens to me. If he wants a legitimate claim, he's got to take us both out. It's the only way he'll get his hands on it without a civil war."

Miles searched his face for some indication that he was telling the truth. As much as he didn't trust Monroe—not after he came back east to reform the Republic, still he couldn't risk Charlie's life. He sat there in indecision for several minutes.

"Miles, I could have just pulled the trigger. I'm asking you to trust me, for her sake. Connor fed you a bunch of bullshit. I'd _never_ hurt her. Deep down, you've got to know that." He added. "I know you think I'm the one that's lost it, and maybe over the past few weeks I've done a lot of backsliding, but Connor makes me look like Mother Theresa."

With a sigh, he stood up, finally taking his gun off of his prisoner. "God, I hate you."

"Well, at least some things ever change." Knowing they were very likely running out of time, he didn't bother to grab anything else. His only concern was getting downstairs as soon as possible. They raced down the hall and into the stairwell. "Where's the guards?" he asked as they headed down together.

"There weren't any when I came up."

Monroe didn't bother to mention that when he'd come up, he'd essentially just passed Charlie's room. He'd figure it out soon enough, and later he'd laugh at the irony of it. In the hallway by the door to her office, the two guards that Harris had personally vetted and assigned to her detail were dead on the floor. One had been stabbed and the other looked like his neck wasn't positioned naturally.

After spending on a few brief seconds describing the layout of her quarters, he slowly opened the door. It only opened halfway, having been stopped by some unseen obstruction. Going first, Monroe slid through the opening and looked down to see what was blocking the door. His mouth formed a grim line when he saw Rachel sprawled on the floor behind it.

As Miles entered behind him, Monroe squatted down and searched for her pulse. Finding one, he stood and nodded briefly, indicating to Miles that for the time being at least she was still alive. The door leading from her office her personal rooms was ajar and they could hear a struggle inside.

Forcing his worry for her and his rage for the entire circumstance deep inside, he led the way. "You bitch!" could be heard as they approached cautiously. Monroe peered around the corner into her bedroom to see Connor and Charlie locked in a struggle. He punched her hard in the stomach, causing her to double over. Another slap sent the small knife she held scattering to the floor, it's blade red. The way he moved his arm when he reached out to grab her neck suggested she'd gotten in a decent hit.

Connor slammed her into the wall, his hand squeezing her throat and pinning her there, his other hand blocking her paltry attempts to free herself. When she continued to struggle she began to claw at his hand, desperate for air.

"Let her go," Monroe growled as he put his gun to the back of his son's head. It was all he could do to focus on saving her and not on the fact that if he pulled the trigger he'd be guilty of murdering the last blood he had on this world.

"Hi, _Dad,_" he said with a laugh. The name sounded twisted coming from him now. "We both know you're not going to shoot me."

"Maybe he won't, but I will," Miles added as he entered right behind him. "Let her go and I _might_ not kill you for using me to get to Charlie."

Connor weighed his options. He just needed to buy a few minutes. "So you really thought you could have her take my place? You've really got it bad for her, don't you- picking a piece of ass over your own son. It's sick."

Monroe swallowed nervously. He really didn't want to pull the trigger but he knew he didn't have a whole lot of options. "It had nothing to do with Charlie, and everything to do with that shit you pulled in St. Louis. All you had to do was keep your mouth shut and learn how to take care of it, but you had to play the badass."

"Maybe if you hadn't been such a bleeding heart with all your 'doing things the right way' crap I wouldn't have had to take matters into my own hands," he sneered as he increased the pressure on her windpipe.

"This was never about power Connor. It was about fixing things, you knew that. I told you that back in New Vegas."

"You said a lot of things in New Vegas. Too bad you didn't have the decency to let me kill you then," he said with a smile. He watched the hurt in Charlie's eyes, the way she ached for his father made this all too perfect. He'd been told they were sleeping together, but the fact that they cared for one another would only make the victory that much sweeter. "So tell me, how was it? Banging my leftovers? I guess you really have a thing for sloppy seconds, huh? First my mom, now Charlie. Oh that's right… Rachel was in there somewhere too, wasn't she?"

Monroe had heard enough. "Watch your mouth," he said as he made a decision and hit Connor on the back of the head with the handle of his gun. He may not have it in him to pull the trigger, but he had no qualms against knocking the hell out his kid. A second blow sent Connor to the floor. He stepped over him to get to Charlie. The second she'd been free she'd slid down the wall, coughing and gasping for air.

He helped her up, his brows furrowed with concern. "You okay?" he asked as he brushed his thumb lightly over her cheekbone. She winced; the skin would be bruised soon enough. Unable to speak yet, she grabbed his forearm and squeezed it to reassure him. He saw the way her tank top was torn, the shoulder strap having been ripped. The material had fallen away and the top of one breast was almost visible. He gathered the pieces and tied them together to cover her.

"Bass…" she rasped his name as he cupped her face. She could tell he had something he wanted to say, but he suddenly pulled himself out of the moment.

Miles had already pulled Connor to his feet and had his gun on him. "As touching as this is, we've gotta go. Connor had a handful of guards helping him," he said. "And we are totally going to have a conversation about all the _touching_ later."

Monroe snapped back to attention and helped her across the room. When they came across Rachel, he took over moving Connor along so Miles could pick her up. "My office is next door. I've got some spare clothes and weapons—"He didn't even get the sentence out before they were met with half a dozen guns.

He stared coldly at the men that had just a few hours before been stationed for his own protection in the stairwells, or so he'd thought. Miles was forced away from Rachel and they were backed into the far wall. "Stand down, or I'll shoot him, and then you're totally fucked," Monroe finally said, having been smart enough to drag Connor there with them. "Hard to pull a coup without a leader, don't you think?"

"It's over, Dad. You won't shoot me and neither one of you will risk Charlie. Drop your weapons or they'll open fire." Connor said as a smile spread across his face. "You should have listened to Miles and gotten out while you could."

"You ungrateful little bastard," Monroe said under his breath as put the safety on his gun and tossed it to the ground. He gave Miles a meaningful look and waited for him to do the same before taking off his sword belt.

"Maybe, but I'm a smart little bastard, now aren't I. Smarter than you at least." With a nod of his head they were shoved out the door and down the hallway. "Somebody, do something with that," he added, pointing to Rachel.

Hands behind their heads, they were brought downstairs and out of the north wing of the residential half of the compound. They were met at the bottom of the main staircase by Major Levins and a dozen more men. "Report," Connor barked at him.

"Sir, anyone on duty that was unwilling to accept the change in command was eliminated. Twelve down, no casualties of our own," he said as he saluted the man he'd chosen to back.

"And the others?"

"Out of the way for now. There were rumors of an attack on the Texas Embassy on the other side of the city. That should keep them busy for a few more hours, until we have the compound secure. We're working on the eastern wing, but we should have the rest well in hand."

Monroe turned around and lunged at the man. "You son of a bitch!" he shouted as he went for his throat. He was rewarded for the attack with the butt of a rifle to the back, which knocked him off balance enough for Levins to get out of reach.

"Who is that?" Miles whispered to Charlie as they watched Connor's men try to subdue him.

She leaned close so they wouldn't be overheard. "He _was_ our head of security. I wonder how Connor got to him."

"I swear to God you'd better shoot me now because when I get out of this, I'll make sure you hang," Monroe spat as he strained against the two men holding his arms. He stopped struggling and glared at them, clearly done after having made his point.

"Empty threats will get you nowhere," Connor said with a bored roll of his eyes as he turned back to Levins. "Any problems?"

"Some of the household staff have proven less than cooperative. They've been confined to quarters, of course. Most of them will accept the changes eventually, and the ones that don't can always be dealt with."

With a nod, Connor kept walking towards the corridor that led to the other side of the compound, where most of the Republic's offices were located. Levins kept pace with him while the guards brought Charlie, Miles and Monroe in the rear. "And the secretary?"

"He wasn't in his quarters. If rumors are correct, he's probably entertaining one of his, you know…" he let the insinuation hang out there, amused at his own cunning.

"Since my father has managed to stay alive this long, I suppose we'll just use him as a hostage until we're secure," he said.

Before they could move any further the doors to the corridor burst open. Harris stood there with a handful of men, a sword and gun in hand. Monroe almost did a double take when he saw the young man standing there in his pajamas, having clearly been dragged from his bed. Without a word, Harris aimed and fired, taking Levins down.

As soon as the chaos began, Monroe head butted the man that held him. He started to go down, giving him an opportunity to dive for his rifle. They struggled over it for a moment, but despite the guard's youth, Monroe still outweighed him by a good thirty pounds and had experience on his side. With the barrel pressed to his opponent's chin, he pressed on the man's finger, pulling the trigger. With a blood spattered face, he pulled the weapon free and immediately turned to fire on another guard.

He then tossed the rifle to Charlie and grabbed the second guard's sidearm and sword. More comfortable with this second set of weapons, he went to work. Miles had already gotten his hand on a blade and soon all hell broke loose.

"Good to see you finally dragged yourself out of bed and decided to show up," he said to Harris as he turned to block a blow from another guard.

"Next time, give me a heads up that someone's going to storm the castle and I'll set my alarm," Harris took down one and started slashing at the next. Out of nowhere several more guards joined the fray in Connor's defense.

"Dammit," Monroe grumbled as he dodged a swing and countered with one of his own. "This is getting annoying," he said as he took aim with the pistol, hitting his opponent in the head before moving on to the next.

"Oh good, reinforcements" Harris said with a smile as several more guards and three women spilled into the hallway. His housekeeper Sally led two of her girls into the fray with all the bravery of any soldier he'd ever commanded. All three were armed with rifles; Sally and the older of the two maids were dressed in their nightgowns. The third, however was dressed like she'd just walked the corner for a few hours.

"Is that Mary?" Monroe asked, noticing the young woman. She quite obviously was out doing something that wasn't befitting of someone in his employ when the attack began.

She blushed and then fired her weapon, her eyes wide as the guard that had rushed her fell to the ground. "I'm sorry General. I can explain," she stammered. She knew she'd be reprimanded for breaking the code of conduct she'd agreed to when she'd signed on to work in the compound.

"Don't be too hard on her," Harris said as he continued to fight. "If she hadn't been out and about, we wouldn't have gotten the warning. She saw someone scaling the back balcony when she was sneaking back in and came and got me."

Monroe glared at Miles. At least he knew how he'd gotten in. That certain someone shrugged as he prepared to swing his sword, only to find his opponent fall when Charlie's gun went off. They were fighting off the last few when Harris turned to face Connor.

Both young men went round a few times before Connor stuck, coming at him with a high swing. Harris blocked and countered. His son was completely unaware that none of his men still stood as he continued to go on the offensive.

"He's not half bad," Miles commented as he now leaned up against the wall next to where Sally and her girls stood.

Monroe let out a half-hearted chuckle. "He ought to be good, I trained him."

Moments later, Connor's sword was sent to the ground. Before he could pull his gun out, He found himself surrounded by Mathesons and his own father. "Now, it's over." Monroe said. "Lock him up, and for fuck's sake, this time_ keep _him locked up," he ordered the four men that had come with Harris. He waited for them to drag is son off before turning to Harris.

"Flannel jammies Shawn? Where did you even get those." he said as if it was the strangest thing in the world.

"What? At least I own pajamas… Sir."

"Touché. What's our status?"

"They tried to take the other side of the compound but we fought them off. I've sent two more squads in through the back to clear out this side. Seven casualties on the other side, not telling on this one." Harris explained.

"And why are we using maids for backup?"

"Those sons of bitches tried to hurt my girls, that's why," Sally interjected.

Miles squinted at her. "Is that Sally Reynolds?" She was quite a bit older, but he remembered her working in Independence Hall briefly.

"It's Sally Barker now, if you don't mind. And shame on you, Miles Matheson for sneaking that spoiled brat in here," she snapped at him.

Charlie made a mental note to ask how Miles knew the housekeeper. Instead she went up to Monroe. "You're bleeding," she said as she touched his bicep lightly. A long slash went down it where he hadn't moved quick enough to avoid a knife.

"It's just a scratch," he insisted. He pulled her hair aside and inspected the finger shaped bruises on her neck. "I'm so sorry. I should have just gotten you out of the city when word came that he'd escaped." Now was neither the time nor the place, so he hoped that she'd understand what the past two hours had done to him.

"I wouldn't have gone," she said quietly. _Not without you,_ she added in her head.

He shook his head at her. _Always has to be so damned stubborn_. "I should have at least tried." When Miles cleared his throat uncomfortably he took a step back. "Harris, Rachel Matheson is in Charlie's office and is in need of medical attention. As soon as we're sure the building is clear, send someone for a doctor."

"And the other intruder, sir?" Harris asked, sending a cold glare towards Miles.

Monroe hadn't yet thought about what to do with him yet. Technically Miles was still a ranking general in the Militia so what he'd done was essentially treason. Both men knew that Monroe would never have him charged with it, but the threat may be useful in the days to come.

"Harris, meet Miles Matheson. He's a drunk, a dick and has a habit of trying to kill me in my sleep. Miles, meet Captain Shawn Harris. Shawn is disgustingly efficient, loyal to a fault and as you've seen, a quick study at sword play. He also cheats at cards." He waited for the two men to acknowledge one another and the introduction, ignoring Harris' griping about the cards comment. "Now that you've both been properly introduced, escort Miles to one of the guest suites as soon as you hear back from your men. Make sure it's a decent one, he's going to be seeing a lot of it over the next few days."

With that, he turned and walked up the stairs. "Where are you going?" Charlie said, putting herself in his path.

"To get a shirt and a drink," he said as he side stepped her and continued on his way.

She couldn't believe him. "The building isn't secure yet!" she called after him.

"Don't care," he snapped, disappearing from sight—and he truly didn't.

She glared at two of the guards. "Well don't just stand there, go after him."

"Yes ma'am," they said in unison before running after him to catch up.


	10. Conversations and Confrontations

**A/N: Initially this story went right towards it's rather long conclusion, but enough people had commented that they were interested in how everyone would interact after the smoke cleared that I decided to expand a little. Most of these conversations were only referenced to initially and were not described in detail (again, this was supposed to be a simple store at first… damn my love of complexity…) The only scene that I'd originally written was the first one. A warning in advance- this is dialog heavy. There is one important confrontation that is obviously missing. It will come later, I assure you. **

**I'm not sure when I'll get the next chapter out. Right now there is a lot of chaos going on where I live (St. Louis) and we're just close enough to it that we may have to book it for a few days until the dust settles (if it makes its way further west down the highway, that is) just to be on the safe side. Well, that and my kid's school is closed until further notice. Hard enough to write with one kid home, two kids home makes it almost impossible. So, if nothing comes soon, please forgive me all. As always your comments and support are awesome!**

_One hour after the attack…_

Harris made everyone stay put until he heard back from the other squads. When he was sure that Monroe was safely in his quarters and the men that had made the mistake of following Connor were either apprehended or dead, he gave the all clear.

Those that had been locked in their quarters were already freed, most of them never having woken up to discover that they'd been confined in the first place. It seemed that the only error Connor had made in his plan was involve Miles Matheson. He should have known that Miles wouldn't just shoot him. There was too much history there and he'd already failed to do it once.

He now escorted the former general to the western wing of the residential half of the compound. He'd wisely chosen a suite of rooms as far from Monroe's quarters as he could get while still following orders. If it was up to him, Matheson would have gone with Connor to holding and interrogations on the other side of the city.

Miles walked in front of him, his hands on his head. He had no plans to try to escape or attack Monroe further, but he couldn't blame the kid for not trusting him. It was obvious that his reputation had preceded him. "So you're Bass' little enforcer, huh?" he asked as he continued to saunter down the hallway with all the bravado he could muster.

"Actually, I'm his personal secretary," Harris snapped, prodding him with the gun a little rougher than necessary when Matheson snickered at his job title.

"Same thing," Miles said, smiling at the captain's irritation. "So how did you land the gig? Were you just a bigger snitch than the other applicants, or did you have to take them out first?"

"Not that it's any of your business, but I just happened to deliver a message and he started having me run errands. I just never went back to my unit," Harris explained. "I'd never even met him before then."

"Trust me, he probably had you vetted months before hand," he mused. "Bass isn't the trusting type."

"That'd be kind of hard considering I'd only been in the city for a few days. You obviously don't know him that well, Butcher." He made a point to use the old moniker, almost sneering at it. Yes, he was very familiar with his captive's reputation. He hadn't enlisted until after Monroe had revamped the Militia, but he'd grown up in the old republic. He'd heard of the things Miles Matheson had done.

Miles stopped walking and took the risk of being shot to turn and face him. "I've known Bass since we were five years old. I think I know him a bit more than you do; and you wouldn't be defending him now if you'd lived in the Republic before."

Harris got him moving again before he spoke. "I'm from Ohio. I know very well what the Republic was like, and I can see the difference now. That's why I enlisted."

Miles was surprised at this. Granted, Ohio didn't have it bad as a lot of places had. Wisconsin and Michigan had seen the worst that the Militia had to offer only because they were so far removed from Philly and the men that had led the forces there had been more corrupt than the rest. Still, live wasn't exactly a picnic in Ohio either. In fact, the only places that seemed to avoid most of Monroe's wrath up until the last year or so were Jasper and Philly itself.

Until the night that Monroe had betrayed their hometown, he and Bass had made sure the Militia knew that Jasper was off limits and exempt from taxes. Their attachment to the town had given them an advantage over other towns, and in fact they'd even made sure it was protected. And Philly, well that was always Bass' baby. Miles may have started the whole thing, but when it came to the historic town, once Bass had adopted it as his new home, he'd put all his energy into restoring it. Independence Hall had been chosen because of his love of the history within its walls.

"You must have just shot up through the ranks," he commented. Bass was never one to promote lightly. Even Jeremy had only been a captain, and he'd been second in command over the entire Republic after he'd abandoned Philly.

"Yeah, well I'm a hard worker," Harris replied, his tone more clipped than ever.

They'd reached the end of the hallway and had stopped in front of a door on the left. "I get the feeling you don't like me much, Captain."

Harris opened the door and shoved Miles inside the room. "I thought you were supposed to be his best friend—brothers or something. I've heard what happened the night you tried to kill him and now you've done it again. That's not how I treat my friends."

"Bass isn't capable of having friends; not anymore," Miles had to laugh at that. As far as he was concerned, this _kid_ before him was just naïve and hopped up on the power that his position within the Republic gave him. It would only be a matter of time before he found himself shot for his loyalty. Connor may have lied to them, but he still wasn't convinced that this version of the republic would prove to be much different from the last.

"Well, I'm his friend. Charlie is too. He's worked his ass off trying to make this country something to be proud of. You'd have seen that if you'd just come and let him show you, rather than bringing that backstabbing little shithead here. And now? You may have just ruined everything we've all been working so hard for. The second he found out that Connor had escaped, he hasn't been the same. I have a feeling that you know just as well as I do that after what you've done, it's only going to get worse."

The conversation was cut short by the arrival of three guards that would be charged with keeping the Mathesons securely in their quarters. "Your woman will be brought here when the Doc clears her. Any attempts to escape will be viewed as further aggression towards the General and you will be shot."

_Eighteen hours after the attack…_

Charlie had stayed by her mother's side until she woke up. She knew that as soon as she was deemed well that Rachel Matheson would be joining Miles in what amounted to a very comfortable jail cell. She was sure that the only reason Miles hadn't been carted off with Connor was because of his connection to her. Not even his past with Monroe would have saved him if he wasn't her family—not this time.

As it was, the doctor would be arriving any minute to check her a second time and if the way she was pacing Charlie's office was of any indication, she was going to be just fine. "How can you just sit there?" Rachel said as she came to a stop in front her daughter. "He's got Miles locked up. God knows what Monroe's going to do to him."

"Will you calm down? He's not going to do anything. He knows that Connor tricked you both. Bass won't let him be harmed," Charlie said wearily as she pinched the bridge of her nose. Her head was killing her now. The past eighteen hours had been an absolute nightmare.

_Four hours after the attack…_

_ Charlie knocks on the door to his quarters gently. When he doesn't respond, she hesitates and then opens the door. She finds him standing by the window, looking out as the sun slowly creeps up above the horizon. _

_ He turns at the sound of the door opening. His first instinct is to get ready to defend himself. It is only the small voice of reason in the corner of his mind that reminds him that if someone was going to attack him, they wouldn't be knocking first. _

_ He sees her standing there, her concern evident. He doesn't move, just waits for her to approach him. "Did you get your arm looked at?"_

_ "It's fine," he says, his hand coming up to rest over the wound. He doesn't realize that he's winced a little at the contact. _

_ Charlie goes to see for herself. She unbuttons the wool shirt and pulls it off his shoulder. His arm is bandaged haphazardly. She unwinds it. A line of stitches are only half finished. She looks up at him questioningly. "Well obviously the Doc's been here. Why did he stop?"_

_ "Because I told him to get out. I'm fine," he says._

_ "Sit," she tells him. The last thing they need is for him to die of infection because he's stubborn. The doctor had left what he'd been using in his haste to escape. She grabs the decanter and uses what's left inside to sterilize her hands. She goes to work in finishing up the job. _

_ Other than the occasional grunt when the needle pierces a bit too deeply, he doesn't react or recoil as she works. She's definitely not as skilled as the doctor, but she'd had to patch someone up here and there during the war and she can get the job done. She goes into his washroom and grabs a small towel and uses it to dab at the wound with more whiskey when she's finished. He hisses as it makes contact. _

_ Finished she rewraps his arm with the bandage. Their eyes lock as she finishes. "Thank you," he tells her, almost whispering. "I've got a lot to do and more to think about. Go take care of your mom, okay?"_

_ His words and tone are not unkind, but she knows when she's being dismissed. She leaves him to do as he asks. With her family being involved, she knows that she's the last person he wants to be around right now. _

"How can you even _think _about defending him?" Her mother abruptly stopped pacing and crossed the room, taking her daughter's face in her hands. "What has he done to you?"

"Can you hear yourself? _This_ is why I didn't tell you where I was going. Why can't you get it through your head?" She jerked back to free herself. "I knew what I was doing when I got on that train. He hasn't hurt me and he hasn't threatened me. I've been free to go home the entire time, but I chose to say. I'm here because I want to be."

"How can you be so blind, Charlie? He's dangerous; unstable." Her voice was shaking with emotion. "Did you completely forget what he did to me in Philly?"

"This is different. _He's_ different. We've been working so hard to straighten the Republic out. All he wants is to do things right this time around; to make up for the past and just maybe be forgiven."

Rachel turned away, sickened by what she was hearing. "Some things can't be forgiven, Charlie."

Fed up, Charlie stalked over to Rachel and grabbed her by the shoulders, whipping her around. "If he's not worthy of forgiveness then neither are you or Miles. He fights so hard not to be that man—and _that's_ why he deserves a second chance."

Rachel shook her head, stubborn as ever. "He's pulled you into his madness. He's had problems for a long time, Charlie. It wasn't just the blackout."

"What are you talking about?"

Rachel almost stopped herself, but she was so desperate to get Charlie to understand that it wasn't only her hatred for the man that had her concerned. She told her daughter about the deaths of his family and where it had taken him. "He tried to kill himself. The only reason he didn't get discharged from the Marines for it was because your dad and I called in a favor with a friend in the DOD to keep it off his record. We tried to get him help afterwards, but he refused. Some people just don't want to help, and you can't force them."

Charlie's heart ached for him. She'd seen the graves in Jasper when they'd followed him there with Georgia. She hadn't asked Miles how they died, nor did he explain how much it had damaged him. She went over to her desk and pulled out a folded piece of paper. "He's asking now," she said as she handed her mother the letter he'd sent her the previous fall.

Rachel hesitated and then began to read it. She noticed the difference in the handwriting right away, much faster than Charlie had. In her years of captivity, she'd read more than one missive from him. He'd always been so precise and disciplined in everything he wrote—it was as if every word was chosen perfectly to get the effect he wanted. This was just a chaotic mess in comparison.

Charlie saw the fight go out of her, so she tried once more. "He might have said he was looking for an advisor, but you can't tell me you don't see this for what it was—he was looking for a friend; someone to keep him grounded. He's begging for help here, even if he doesn't say the real reason why."

Rachel truly looked at her daughter for the first time since she'd woken up. She saw what was really there and it scared her. She'd seen that look on her face before. She'd worn it when she'd talked about Jason Neville once. "You care about him?"

She took the letter back and carefully folded it up. She didn't know why she'd kept it, but for some reason she had and it was important to her. "I do," she confessed as she put the letter away. "We maybe had something too, but he backed off when Connor escaped. And now this… This may have ruined any chance of getting it back."

They were cut off by the doctor's return. The examination he gave Rachel was, of course just a formality. Anyone could see that she was going to be fine. Her concussion was mild and she was well on the mend.

Within the hour she was taken to Miles. With Levins' betrayal, Monroe had decided to leave Harris in charge of security for the time being. At his recommendation, their leader had allowed Harris to appoint one of his aides as his new secretary. The private was a friend of Harris' and he trusted him implicitly. This left him free to handle his new duties.

Harris stood in the doorway now and watched as Rachel was led away. "I'm sorry, Charlie. I'm sure it's just for a few days." He looked at her sadly. Over the past months they'd become good friends and he hated the fact that both she and Monroe were both hurting. He also hated that he was now in a position where loyalty to her would be a betrayal to Monroe and vice versa. Still, Charlie would understand and get over it. Monroe, on the other hand needed all the loyalty he could get right now.

"How is he?" she asked.

"Your uncle is fine. He—"

"Not Miles. I sure he's getting by. Knowing him, he's somehow managed to convince his guards to get him a bottle of something and is cooling his heels in wasted bliss. I meant Bass."

Harris came in the rest of the way, shutting the door to block their words from reaching curious ears. He flopped down on one of the chairs, propping his feet up on the other. He'd been on the go since he'd been woken up by Mary and was beyond tired. "He's not good. He was already driving himself nuts with Connor… Now? I know he kind of pushed you away, but maybe you should try to talk to him again. You always could talk him down better than anyone."

Charlie rubbed her eyes, willing them to remain open. "Shawn, it's better if I back off. It's my family that's done this. He needs time to process it all."

He got up then and went to the door. He still had several things to take care of before he could go off duty for a few hours. "I hope you know what you're doing. You know he misses you. You didn't see him a lot after he went back into hiding, but I did. He's been miserable, even if he's too much of an ass to admit it." He left her to mull that over, hoping she'd at least consider it.

_Thirty-six hours after the attack…_

Miles stared out the window to their third floor room and watched the city go about its business. He'd been on edge for the past day and a half. He'd been questioning everything. The animosity that they'd seen from the guards trumped what it was the last time tenfold. There were a handful of men that truly had believed in the last Republic, but for the most part the Militia's loyalty had been based in fear. Now, they seemed to genuinely want to support their leader in a way they hadn't before.

This made him truly wonder what was going on. Obviously, Connor was nuts. The question was how much did the apple fall from the tree? Monroe's "issues" had always been rooted in his own fear of being alone. After his family had died, he'd clung to Miles as a way to survive and cope. After Shelly it had been more of the same but his response had been more extreme. Since Miles had wanted to raid their neighbors and form an army, he'd gone all out to give it to him. It had been like he was afraid if he didn't throw himself into it that Miles would disappear to do it himself and Bass would have been all alone once more.

When Miles had woken up one day and realized that they'd gone too far, he'd truly believed that his brother had died long ago and had been replaced with a power hungry monster that felt human life held no value. He hadn't thought that there was a piece of the original man still in there somewhere, desperate to be found. The way that he'd forsaken his plans with Connor to follow them with Davis had given him hope for the first time in years that Bass wasn't beyond salvation after all.

When he'd retaken what was left of the Militia and formed the new incarnation of the Republic, that hope had faltered. It had been utterly destroyed when Bass had taken the south as well. He'd been so quick to believe Connor that he hadn't considered the validity of any of the other rumors crossing the Mississippi about order rising from all the chaos the Patriots had left.

Now, he didn't know what to believe. Of course, Rachel was still convinced that he'd somehow brainwashed Charlie and any claims that he'd been trying to do things the right way are just a cover. And she'd been vocal about it to the point where he'd considered gagging her at least twice. The last thing he needed right now was a frightened mother's hysterics.

The tender looks and brief exchanges he'd seen between Charlie and his former best friend had him wondering about that as well. When Rachel had repeated what Charlie had told him about her feelings for the man, it had only made it more confusing.

Sure, Charlie was young and when it came to women, well Bass was Bass—but even if he'd been able to convince his niece to sleep with him, she wasn't what one would call the romantic type. She'd left her share of broken hearts behind her in Willoughby. The girl could be naïve, but she wasn't that naïve. Or was she? If she cared about him, maybe there's something to be said for it—not that he didn't plan on kicking Bass' ass for it later.

The door to their comfortable prison opened to reveal Monroe. He was in full uniform and Miles could tell by looking at him that he's about ready to drop. Later, Rachel would tell him that he looked psychotic, but Miles knew better. It was clear that the man was running on empty. More than likely, he hasn't slept since the attack and if what they'd overheard is true, he'd barely gotten a moment's peace since they helped Connor escape.

He entered the room and the door swung shut behind him. His posture was ridged as if he was trying like hell to keep his composure. His detachment was forced, and to someone like Miles, he couldn't hide the turmoil that was beneath the façade. He stared them down for several minutes before he began. "You've certainly caused a lot of trouble."

"Well you know me, it's my middle name," Miles offered cautiously. Monroe may have been hurt more than angry, but that was always when he was his most dangerous. Wounded, he was like an animal and had a tendency to lash out unpredictably.

"I want to know what else you and my son have planned. How many men? Who else is involved?" Monroe was aggressive in his questioning. He only had one shot at this, so he fully planned on finding out what he could.

"Connor said he had a few friends that had been assigned to your security detail. They were supposed to make sure the balcony and one other door were unguarded for a few hours, that's it." Miles decided that he's going to be honest. Connor's hidden agenda gave him no reason to keep what little he knew to himself.

"How did you get him out of Jasper?"

"It was surprisingly easy. One guard at the back, one at the front. We were getting him out of Emma's house, not Fort Knox. Speaking of, you technically own Fort Knox now. How are you so broke?"

"I'm not going to discuss the Republic's finances with you. And there's no way to get into it, stupid. Trust me; Foster tried, I've tried. It was built to go on lockdown if it lost power and the generators failed. All that gold is just sitting there and nobody can touch it." Realizing that they'd gotten off topic, he tried again. "So what was the contingency plan when you got caught?"

"There wasn't one. The plan was to not get caught." Miles said. This was going to get nowhere, so he decided to lay it all out there. "Connor wrote to us; you've read what he said. All we wanted was to get to Charlie and get back out again. I didn't know how he planned on taking over, and I quite frankly didn't want to know."

"You expect me to believe that you just waltzed in and planned on waltzing back out again?" He was having trouble believing that Miles would involve himself without having more control over the situation. He gauged their reactions carefully.

Miles shrugs. "So it wasn't exactly one of my best plans. I went in first to get to you. You were the bargaining chip in case things went south."

"And Rachel?" He'd found it strange that Miles had allowed her to go in separately.

"Connor said his contacts told him that Charlie was being held somewhere on the other side of the compound. One of the guards was to let me know when they got her out. After that we were gone. Anything that happened after that didn't have anything to do with us. Bass, I didn't go in there with plans to kill you. Connor may have thought I was, but I couldn't-"

"You were just going to let my kid do it instead," he murmured, not even bothering to hide how much that wounded him. He turned to go back out the door. He'd found out the one thing he wanted to know—Miles really had just been a pawn, not a planner. He'd let his anger cloud his judgment enough to let Connor use him, but he wasn't behind the attack itself. "You're to remain in confinement for the time being. Charlie and Harris will try to keep your names out of the investigation, but I'm guaranteeing nothing. If the tribunal decides to charge you, I cannot interfere. And I will stand by whatever verdicts they reach, including sentencing. I can't afford to put myself above the law because of family or past connections."

Miles and Rachel watched him leave. They locked eyes, both letting his words wash over them. He wasn't going to harm them, but he wasn't exactly going to protect them either. If he was telling the truth, he was fully planning on letting the legal machine run its course. The fact that there were laws and some semblance of legal system in this new incarnation of the Republic left them dumbfounded.

Before, Monroe had been the judge and jury when it came to crimes against the state—the militia had handled everything else. There'd been no trials, no formal investigations. If you were caught doing something, you were shot and killed. If you had something the militia wanted, they claimed you were caught doing something and you were still shot and killed.

"We may have made a very big mistake," Miles finally said. They'd come east fully expecting to find things just as they'd always been, but Monroe had actually surprised them both. With a heavy heart, Miles went back to the window and resumed watching those that passed below the window. He knew then that he'd destroyed what little chance there'd been of fixing their fucked up friendship.


	11. You Thought Your Job Sucked Before?

**A/N: I am very sorry for the long delay guys. Thank you to anyone that's still with me at this point. The holidays are always nuts in my industry and it makes for long shifts and extra shifts, which left little time for writing—especially when I had a one shot and another multi fic thrown in there too. Which, btw the extra fic I posted on ao3 will be up on ffnet in the next week or so once I've reformatted it and done some corrections (the corrected version will be up on ao3 too hopefully). **

**Writing that story changed the ending of this one, because I felt the very ends had just enough similarity that it would have taken away from this one. I spent weeks trying to figure out where I wanted this one to go and finally think I've got it right and I'm happy with it, even though it ended up taking this story somewhere I hadn't expected.**

**This chapter isn't very long, considering the wait, but the happy news is that this story is completely written and typed out. I will be posting 1-2 chapters a day until it's finished (a total of I believe about 22k words! Yikes!). It really depends on how much proofing I get done in the meantime. So, there will definitely be no more long delays because it's complete. **

**As a heads up, there are a few dark chapters ahead, but I really wanted to explore the General Monroe we knew in season one a little, and I had initially intended this story to deal with Monroe's mental instability and suicidal tendencies. This didn't go as deep into that as I'd initially planned, but I think it's a better story for it. You may consider the previous chapters part 1 of this fic. The next several are really part 2, and the final few chapters are really part 3 (they go off in a direction and take Monroe and Charlie to a place I hadn't expected until I got there). **

**Thanks again to everyone that's commented and given loves to this, and I know I still owe (and am dying to give) comments and love to a lot of stories out there. I'm still a lot behind.**

_Seven days after the attack…_

Monroe sat in his office, going over reports that Charlie had sent up for his review. Right from the start, he'd recused himself from the investigation. He hadn't wanted the witch hunt that had occurred the last time Miles tried to kill him in his sleep, so instead he'd taken a step back and had allowed Charlie and Harris to take over. Of course, he was still apprised of every development, but it all went on without his interference.

They made sure that there was a complete written record of all interrogations and that at least one member of the Tribunal was present at all times. It was the only way to avoid the same types of rumors and accusations that had circulated in the aftermath of Miles' betrayal in Philadelphia.

The latest report didn't tell him anything new. As far as they'd been able to discern, Connor had very little help. The guards in Jasper hadn't been involved; they'd just been complacent with what was essentially babysitting duty. Connor hadn't been exactly incarcerated, after all. He'd just been on house arrest to keep him out of trouble.

House arrest had even been too strong a term for it. He'd been allowed out of his mother's home to run errands, have a drink or two at the local bar and so on. He'd just been subject to a strict curfew and had not been allowed private company—not even a hooker.

Their job included making sure that he didn't go out at night and that he stayed in Jasper. Since he'd made no attempt to escape in all the months he'd been there, they hadn't expected that he'd try at all. Miles had no problem getting him out, but then again, Miles knew both the house and town perfectly.

He was setting the report aside when Harris came in. "The Tribunal has just finished interviewing General Adams," he said as he sat down to go over the minutes with him.

"And?"

"He implicated Colonel Gray as being one of Connor's backers. One of his men found a letter between them that suggests the attack on the Rebels had been orchestrated by your son to increase the instability up north—a distraction," Harris explained.

"But that was months ago," Monroe pointed out as he rubbed his temples. He'd been going all week on very little sleep and his head was pounding. None of it made any sense. "How would that help him now?"

"Maybe his own attack was delayed? Or, maybe he was looking for something more long term." In reality, Harris' guess was as good as anyone else's. He and Charlie had looked at every angle, and from what they could tell, there was nothing there.

"There had to be a bigger conspiracy," he insisted. "Otherwise, what was the point?" Indeed, that was the burning question that had been keeping him up at night for the past week. Why attack when there was no hope of winning? Granted, there was no way to uncover everyone involved, but this was shaping up to look like a minor inside job. If that was the case, he'd never had a hope to hold on to the Republic, even if he'd managed to kill both him and Charlie.

Harris watched Monroe closely—he could almost see the wheels turning in his head. He didn't look good and every day it seemed to be worse. "Permission to speak freely, sir?" he said after several minutes of silence.

Monroe looked up at him. The request sent his mind back in time. Suddenly, he was back in Philly with Jeremy. Poor Jeremy that had been his friend right up until the end—right up until Monroe had ordered him killed for a betrayal that he'd never committed. He remembered Jeremy asking him that same question.

Jeremy had been one of the first to sign up for his and Miles' earliest incarnation of the militia. He'd always said and done what he wanted up until the last few years. It wasn't until Monroe had been absolutely at his worst that Jeremy had started walking on eggshells around him.

"Shawn, just say what's on your mind. When we're alone, you don't have to ask permission," Monroe finally said. When the look on Harris' face suggested he felt otherwise, he felt the need to clarify. "Listen, we're friends. If I _ever_ tell you that you can't speak freely, you either need to shoot me, or throw me in the looney bin."

"Well okay then," Harris said with a nervous laugh. He wondered then if his superior officer realized how off he'd been acting over the past few days. "You look like shit. Maybe you need to take a few days off," he suggested.

Monroe shook his head. "I'm fine, Shawn. With everything that's been going on, you know I can't afford to do that."

Harris leaned forward in his chair. "Why don't you go talk to her?" Charlie had always been the only one Monroe had listened to when someone had to force him to take a break.

"Charlie's made it very clear that our relationship is professional and nothing more," Monroe spat bitterly. "And I'd rather not talk about it."

Harris gave up. He thought they were both being stupid. He knew that Charlie was avoiding Monroe because she was worried that he'd blame her for what her family had done. To give the general credit, he did swallow his pride a little after four days and had sent for her, but Charlie hadn't been able to face him yet.

As far as he knew, she hadn't seen him since the night of the attack and Monroe was not better for it, as she'd thought. He was obsessing and working non-stop. They both knew how he got when he subjected himself to that. Adding that to the fact that they'd come up with so few answers thus far, he started to become more suspicious, and in that was a recipe for a serious problem.

Harris got up. "I'll let you know when we find anything else out. Did you need anything?"

"If you happen to see Sally, have her send a bottle up," was all Monroe said as he picked up a stack of papers of his desk, thoroughly dismissing him. When Harris was gone, he tossed them back on his desk and leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes against the lamplight, which only seemed to make the pain worse.

All hell was breaking loose already. The representative from Florida had high-tailed it back to Tallahassee the morning after the attack. Monroe knew that the deal was off the table, not that he could blame anyone for it. If their situations were reversed, there was no way in hell that he'd get into bed politically with someone that had barely survived being murdered by his own son for control of the country.

On top of that, Harris having brought up Charlie only seemed to remind him how much it hurt to know that whereas she tried to get in to see her mother and Miles almost daily, she basically wanted nothing to do with him. He knew he'd fucked up badly when he'd pushed her away in the week before the attack, but her concern right after it suggested that she still cared at least a little.

The truth was he needed her. She was like his lodestone that helped keep is head on straight. That she'd helped ease his workload was only a small part of it. It was as if her very presence gave him the perspective he needed to muddle through the stress and hell that came with running a country.

Charlie's involvement in the investigation meant that someone had to take over some of her pervious duties. That someone ended up being Monroe. As he took those duties back over, it became increasingly more difficult for him to make it through the day.

The added stress of it all was taking a toll on him, but he had to muddle through. Even without the recent chaos, there were still things that needed his constant attention. A miner's strike in West Virginia; bickering between the south and north over how much of the early crops would be sent to other regions of the Republic; whether or not the Republic could still afford to build that new dam in Ohio. The list went on and on.

Normally he'd have handled the miner's strike personally and delegated the rest out, but he was stuck with all of it. As taxes for the first half of the year came in, he had to review everything—part of the hard currency that had come in would have to go to Texas, but he still had to pay the militia. The same went with the portion of the taxes that were paid in the form of food. How much to keep? How much to pass on?

With every day that passed it seemed the demand and pressure of the Republic just pushed on him further. He felt increasingly oppressed by it and the worse it got, the less he felt like he was accomplishing. Negotiations with the rebel factions had all but ceased and it seemed more and more that at some point the violence there would boil over. He was losing his grip on his country, and it felt like there was no way to stop it.


	12. Prison Breaks and Apologies Rendered

**A/N: This chapter is a little longer, with a bit of smut thrown in because I can… A bit of stress, a bit of happiness and the calm before the storm… I know I promised a chapter or more a day, but I took an overly long nap before work and didn't have the time to post before going in. I'll post chapter 13 (I hope) before work tomorrow.**

_Twenty-three Days After The Attack…_

The investigation was slowly starting to wind down. Charlie had spent the past week or so following leads in Jasper, only to return to Nashville empty handed. While she'd been gone one very nervous corporal had come forward on behalf of his company and implicated his commanding officer and both lieutenants under him.

The night of the attack, they'd hinted that some changes may have been on the horizon and had tried to feel out the attitudes of the men they lead. It had taken the men almost two weeks to decide that there was more to it than just talk and they'd taken a vote behind the officers' backs to come forward.

It hadn't taken Harris very long to get them to confess their involvement. They'd been garrisoned in Indy before Monroe had moved men around following the massacre up north and had come into contact with Connor there. They'd pledged their loyalty in exchange for a promise to promote them to the new tribunal when it was created.

On the night of the attack, they were to order their men to aid in taking the compound, but in the end they'd backed out. It hadn't been guilt or a newfound loyalty to their commander in chief that stayed their hands—it had been their lack of confidence in their men. And, they'd been right on that account. The men had remained loyal to Monroe, which had been the officers' ultimate undoing once they'd been turned in.

As the weeks had passed, Monroe found himself growing more lonely and isolated. Charlie's absence had not only left him feeling empty and alone, but had also meant that Harris was working double time outside of the compound as well. There was no one to break up the long hours of work and stress.

By the time that Charlie returned to Nashville, he was depressed, exhausted and increasingly paranoid. He frequently could be seen staring various members of both the household and administrative staff, as if he was trying to see if they had anything to hide.

The entire compound felt his change in demeanor. They were tiptoeing around him like he was ready to explode, which only made him feel more isolated. It was like in Philly all over again, only this time he could actually feel himself going crazy. The last time he'd been unaware of how nuts he'd become until he'd lost everything because of it.

Monroe was just finishing up his lonely dinner alone in his quarters, away from the prying and nervous eyes of the people around him. A gentle knock on the door to his quarters startled him out of his thoughts. Before he had a chance to respond, the door swung open and Charlie was standing there before him.

"You have a second?" she asked, looking almost wary.

Monroe nodded as he pushed his plate away. He grabbed his whiskey and got up from the small table. With a gesture towards the sofa, he waited for her to sit down and then joined her. He didn't speak, just watched her. This was the first time she'd come to his private quarters since the night all hell broke loose and he was torn between his need for her and his anger at her for having avoided him.

"You don't look so good," she began, her concern showing through.

He took a drink and shrugged. "The last few weeks have been a little stressful."

"I know." Charlie hesitated for a few moments before breaking into the topic that had brought her here. "I wanted to talk to you about Miles and my mom."

"What about them?" Monroe asked, stiffening. He was a little put off that her reason for being there had nothing to do with him at all.

"I know you're angry—and you have every right to be. I'm mad at them too, but isn't it time you let them out? You know they didn't plan this."

Monroe clenched his jaw and grasped desperately at his own temper. "Why is it that you always seemed more concerned with the fact that they're locked up than the fact that they tried to _kill_ me—and that they almost got you killed in the process?"

Charlie was clearly wounded at the insinuation. "That's not fair. They're my _family_."

"They're attempted assassins. I think that I've been very accommodating, all things considered. I've let you keep them off the Tribunal's radar and they're comfortable and cared for," he ground out through gritted teeth.

"At least let me see them," she practically begged.

Monroe stood up and crossed the room to refill his glass. Maybe another drink would extinguish the flames of anger that rose within him. "The answer is no. Just whose side are you on?"

"Do you even hear yourself? What's happening to you?" Charlie spat the words at him. This was the second time he questioned her loyalty since she'd sat down and she'd be damned if she'd let him continue to do so.

"Maybe if you'd have been around a little, you'd know," Monroe countered, the bitterness flowing out of him.

Charlie got up and headed towards the door, unable to look at him any longer. "Maybe if you hadn't been acting like a child, I would have been." She left him with those words as she stormed out, slamming the door behind her.

Monroe's first instinct was to have her brought back to answer for her behavior, but he after a brief and intense struggle, he stopped himself. Deep down inside, a tiny voice of sanity told him she was right. That sliver of rational thought stayed him. Instead, he sat back down and proceeded to get drunk enough to pass out.

The next morning, he found himself still sitting there. He managed to pull himself up and get it together enough to start his day. He went from one meeting to another, but his thoughts stayed focused on their fight. After picking at his lunch, Monroe found himself outside of the quarters that had been a prison for the elder two Mathesons over the past weeks.

After sending the guards off with new instructions, he unlocked the door himself and stepped inside. Miles and Rachel were just finishing up their own meal. They both stood and eyed him warily as he stared them down.

"You're both to have full access of the residential half of the compound—except the third floor in the other wing." There was no way he wanted either of them anywhere near his quarters. The last thing he needed was to worry about a repeat of that night three weeks ago—he knew he was barely hanging on as it was.

"What?" Miles asked, incredulous. He'd given up on being released any time soon.

"You may stay in the compound for as long as you wish, or other arrangements may be made if you want to stay elsewhere in Nashville. Harris will see to it a train takes you anywhere you wish to go, should you decide to leave the city." He turned and reached for the door. "Try not to take any more hostages while you're here," he added over his shoulder before leaving them.

Miles and Rachel shared a worried look. He was letting them out with very little restrictions, which was more than they expected, but there was something about the way he carried himself now that had them worried. They'd both seen him this way before, and it did not bode well.

Late that evening, Monroe was weighing the options of getting completely tanked versus going to bed when Charlie barged in once more. "Why did you let them out?" she asked.

"Do you really need to ask that?" It struck him straight through the middle when she looked down at the floor rather than respond. He knew he'd been an ass when he'd pushed her away, but he still couldn't believe that things had deteriorated that badly between them so quickly. "I let them out for you."

Charlie closed the distance between them, both physically and otherwise. Her hand on his cheek was all it took to break the wall down he'd constructed around himself ever since he'd found out that Connor had left Jasper.

Moving fast enough to almost startle her, Monroe yanked Charlie too him. He'd had enough of being apart and wasn't going to let a chance to mend things go to waste. When she didn't protest, he crashed his mouth down on hers. When she eagerly responded, he decided to take a risk; he picked her up and carried her to the bedroom.

He hesitated in the doorway for just long enough to give Charlie a chance to change her mind. When no protest came, he laid her gently on the bed. When she kicked off her shoes, sending one flying across the room, he let a relieved laugh escape. If she was that eager, he had nothing to worry about.

He sat down on the edge of the bed to remove his boots and then stretched out next to her. Gathering Charlie up in his arms, Monroe kissed her with a desperation he'd never known before. She opened for him, sighing as he swept inside, his tongue demanding a response from hers. Charlie eagerly kissed him back, her hands already working his shirt off.

He shrugged out of it and then yanked the undershirt he wore over his head. When he lowered his head again, his lips found her neck. "I missed you," he murmured as he worked down to the neckline of her shirt. Finding that it was in his way, he pulled it from her and continued on to her breasts.

Charlie panted and ran her fingers through his hair as Monroe cupped her breasts through her bra, bringing them together and pressing slow kisses between them. She arched her back and snaked her own hand under her back to undo the clasp, but he stopped her. "That's my job," he lightly admonished as he took over the task, flicking it open expertly.

He tossed the garment over his shoulder and went back to work, massaging and kissing the soft orbs, his tongue lashing at one nipple and then another. Already hard, he ground against her so she'd have no doubts about what she did to him.

Charlie was already bucking against his thigh, which pressed down on the apex of her legs. The friction was delicious. Taking the hint, he moved with her, chuckling when she started to whimper for more. Leaving her breasts, he placed hot kisses down her belly, fingers working her pants loose.

His rough hands skimmed her flesh as he brought them down. She all but screamed when his tongue met her skin right above the line of her panties. "Bass," she moaned. "Please."

He smiled to himself as he drew her cotton panties down, revealing her to him. She kicked her feet in an attempt to remove her pants the rest of the way. He stilled her with his hands and then did the honors for her so he could spread her thighs wide.

Settling between her legs, he parted the soft curls and lapped gently, running just the tip of his tongue up her slit, groaning at the taste of her desire for him that seeped through her soft folds. With Charlie's hand on the back of his head, he parted her completely and began making love to her with his mouth, his tongue slowly working in and out of her as she moved her hips in time to his licks.

"Oh god," she gasped as she threw her legs over his shoulders, locking him in place. He pulled back just a little and began to use his fingers to ply her, lowering his mouth again to torture her clit. He sucked on the sensitive nub gently as he worked two fingers in and out of her.

Charlie pumped her hip faster now, the buildup within her almost unbearable. She was just on the precipice when he slid up her body, earning him a frustrated whine. "Not without me," Monroe said as he lowered his lips to hers once more, the musky flavor of her arousal overwhelming and intoxicating them both.

Desperate for release, Charlie found his belt and scrambled to undo it and then work on his pants. He rolled off of her just long enough to yank them down, kicking himself free of his pants and boxers before settling between her legs once more.

Charlie guided him towards her center and he slammed into her, groaning as she sheathed him completely. "God, you feel good," he told her.

Too worked up to even process his words, Charlie wrapped her legs around him and grabbed at his ass with both hands and trying to pull him closer. When he pulled back and sank back in, she thought she was going to die.

Throbbing and unable to hold back, his thrusts were swift and forceful. Charlie gave as good as she got, bucking under him, meeting him each time he surged forward to reenter her. She urged him on, as she quickly built back up, cresting within minutes. She called his name as she clamped down, her body going rigid while she climaxed.

Urged on by her orgasm and his own pressing need, Monroe thrust wildly, all pretenses of rhythm and finesse lost in his haste. His mouth came crashing down as he lost control. One hand was under her ass, fingers digging in and forcing her pelvis up every time he slammed back in. Just when he thought he couldn't take it anymore, he finally found his release. With a growl in his throat, he came hard, shooting himself deep inside as his whole body tensed up.

"Fuck," he panted as he eased off, aware that he may have been a bit rough with her. He didn't want to crush her, but was loath to pull out so soon, so he used what was left of his energy to roll them both over.

Charlie let out a satisfied purr. He was still just hard enough to remain inside her. She wrapped her limbs around him and buried her face in his neck as they laid there, hearts still pounding and slick bodies pressed close.

They dozed that way for quite some time. Eventually, Monroe slipped out of her. Resettling her in the crook of his arm, he held on tight, as if he was afraid she'd disappear if he let go of her. Charlie sighed in contentment as his thumb lightly stroked her upper arm.

"I needed you," he eventually said. "Where were you?"

"Not far away," she murmured. "I'm sorry I stayed away. After what they did—all because I was too stupid to tell them where I was… I didn't know how to face you."

Monroe tightened his arms around her, feeling better than he had in weeks. It didn't take very long for him to fall asleep. If he'd only have known that it this renewed happiness would be only fleeting, he'd have gone slower and savored the afterglow just a little longer.


	13. First Class Seats on the Crazy Train

**A/N… Of course, our hero is his own worst enemy. This chapter explores is paranoid tendencies… By the end of this you're all probably going to be saying "Why is why not always so mean to these guys?" I promise that this is a catalyst for a happy ending in the end. This chapter marks where the storylines split quite a bit. This had been headed one direction, but after my other fix (which, apologies is still not on off), I decided that the endings were too similar.**

** Initially, this was to explore not his paranoia, but his depression and tendencies towards self-harm. Instead of the chapter ending the way it does, Monroe was going to get dragged off by friends and family for a little sabbatical and then disappear, only for everyone to find out that he'd given it all away before it was too late. But, since I had him doing that in my extra fix (albeit for different reasons entirely), I decided to alter this ending and hence this chapter came out. **

** So, bear with me and I promise to get everyone where they need to be for a happy ending. On a side note, Miles and Rachel kind of take a back seat for this next chunk of story in a sense that they were never major characters in it to begin with. Although there is one chapter that is totally romance (strictly platonic) mile that exists to a) provide very much needed comic relief and b) help wrap things up in what (I hope) is an awesome way.**

Little by little, things began to slowly settle down. The nation was still in shambles, but having someone by his side to help him muck his way through it made things a hell of a lot easier on Monroe. Reconciling with Charlie definitely had a positive effect on his disposition, for one thing, and he got more done when the people around him weren't spending so much time scurrying out of his way.

Charlie had badgered him into at least talking to Miles (she knew better to expect any type of gesture towards her mother). It hadn't been easy for either man, and true to their natures they'd come up with an uneasy compromise: Miles wouldn't kill him for sleeping with his niece; Monroe wouldn't kill him for believing him capable of Connor's lies and trying to act upon that belief.

Miles had tried to take a things a small step further by offering to help clean up the mess that he'd helped to create, however Monroe wasn't quite willing to trust him that far. Charlie had done her best to convince him otherwise; if anything, Miles' assistance would lessen his burden further, but that was one thing he refused to budge on.

He was willing to share an occasional drink with her uncle, and maybe he would eventually forgive him for the betrayal. Involving him with the daily running of the Republic was just a bit much. What he didn't tell her was that he had a small fear that the Tribunal would not take kindly to him bringing Miles on board. Once he'd changed things and given them more power, he was stuck in the precarious position of having to let them wield it and subjecting himself to their whims.

He was already butting heads with them when it came to his son. The only loose thread from the last month remained his trial. The Tribunal was pushing for it to begin so that the matter of his attempted coup could finally be resolved, but Monroe had been stalling as long as he could. He knew that it could only end one way. The outcome was inevitable, but he was still grasping at straws. He didn't know if he had it in him to sign his son's death warrant when the Tribunal convicted him of treason.

Charlie urged Monroe to get it over with. She told him that he'd never find any peace as long as it loomed over them. The Republic couldn't move on with this last piece of the puzzle still unresolved; _he _couldn't move on either.

_Thirty-two days after the attack…_

Monroe sat at his desk, still worrying over the issue when his newly appointed secretary came in with a stack of dispatches. He saluted and then left without a word. With a sigh, Monroe started to pick through them. Although Harris was a perfect fit for his new position as head of security, he missed the easy rapport they'd had when he'd held his previous position.

One of the items in the stack was a lot larger and heavier than the rest. Curious, he opened the package. Inside were a newspaper and a letter from Frank Blanchard. He read the letter first and then, with a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach picked up the paper. ..

Charlie went to Monroe's quarters to join him for lunch. When she found them empty and no evidence that he'd been there yet, she went down to the office he was now using on the other side of the compound. It was the one that he'd only once used for formal occasions, but he'd recently moved everything there. At her insistence, he'd agreed to keep work at work. It had been an interesting transition, but he'd found a way to make due.

"I thought you were going to take a break," she said upon entering. She stopped short when she saw the strained look on his face. "What's happened?"

Monroe held up the newspaper that Blanchard had sent. "This was published just two days after Connor made his move," he said flatly.

"What?" Charlie grabbed the pages from him. The headline had chills running up and down her spine. _Eastern Republic in shambles after attempted coup._

She scanned the article in disbelief. It was all there in print—Connor's attack on the compound, Miles and Rachel's involvement. The article went further to delve into the nature of her previous relationship with Connor, and then went on to describe hers with Monroe.

In it, Connor was rumored to have told a follower that his father's poor judgment in elevating Charlie to his second in command and heir to the Republic had been the motivation behind the attack. The article painted Monroe as an idiot and her as nothing more than a manipulative whore that had gone after both men, eventually pitting father and son against one another.

"How did they even find out about the attack this fast?" She asked as she lowered the paper, letting it slip from her fingers back onto his desk.

"Exactly, Charlie." He was livid and had been fighting his temper since he'd first read the letter and article. "One minute, you're telling me you can't find any evidence of a larger conspiracy, and then the next, Frank Blanchard is sending me this? If there wasn't anyone else involved, then _what the hell_ is this then?"

Something about the tone he was using caught her attention. "I don't know."

"News doesn't travel this fast—added to the fact that there are only a handful of people with ties to Texas that know about you and Connor—even fewer that also knew about you and me," Monroe rose out his chair and leaned forward on the desk as he spoke, "… you expect me to believe that this is all just a coincidence?"

Charlie refused to let him intimidate her. The tactic pissed her off to no end. "What exactly are you trying to say?"

"It's all too convenient. You spent months worming your way in, throwing yourself at me—you even admitted it. Then, a week after you finally get me to cave, your family helps my kid escape and then helps him try to kill me?" He snatched up the paper and threw it at her. "And now the entirety of Texas knows about it just two days later?"

Charlie took a step back, "Bass you know I didn't have anything to do with this." Her voice was shaking, but he couldn't tell if it was fear or outrage.

"Do I? Apparently, I don't know jack shit anymore," Monroe said, his accusation hanging coldly between them.

"You're losing it," she said with a shake of her head. "Do you even hear yourself?"

"The more I think about it, the more it makes sense." Monroe was holding on to the very last shred of his control. He turned and grabbed the decanter on the sideboard behind his desk, hoping another drink would steady him enough to stop him from doing something rash.

"It never made sense that Connor would try something with so little to back it up—but not if you were in on it the entire time."

"He tried to kill me too, remember?" Charlie snapped. The conversation was getting out of hand. She knew it, and deep down, Monroe did too. Still, they were both helpless to stop it.

"Maybe not. Things are obviously not what they seem. One thing's for sure—you seemed so worried about them, way more than you ever were about what they tried to do." Monroe tossed the drink back and slammed the glass down, cracking it and cutting his hand. He didn't even feel it.

"They're my family. I can be worried about them and still hold them accountable. I can love them and still be loyal to you." Her eyes welled up with hurt and rage.

Charlie's tears only enflamed his temper further, and he lost his battle against it. "Get out," he snarled.

"Bass—" Charlie began, hoping to calm him down so they could talk about it rationally.

Monroe cut her off. "I said, _Get Out!" _he bellowed.

Charlie just stared at him for a second, before turning and fleeing out into the hallway, letting the door slam shut with a resounding bang. Monroe dragged a hand through his hair. Picking up the decanter, he intended to pour another drink. When he looked down at the shards of glass on his desk, he stopped. He threw the decanter at the door as hard as he could, watching in slow motions as it exploded into pieces, soaking the wood.

As angry as he was, there was a small voice inside his head again, desperate to be heard, and try as he might, he couldn't quite banish it. _You've really fucked up this time, moron_. Monroe sat back down, slumping in his chair in absolute misery.

He was torn between his natural inclination for suspicion and his feelings for Charlie. If he was wrong, he'd just lost one of the few people in the world that actually bothered to give a damn about him. If he was right, he'd never had her to lose.

Harris barged in an hour later. "What have you done?"

Monroe looked up, his eyes flashing in renewed anger. "Watch yourself, Captain."

The warning was ignored and Harris stepped over the broken remnants of the decanter and went straight for it. "Are you fucking insane? How could you accuse her like that? You _know_ she's innocent. I don't know what game Connor was playing, or how that reporter knew about the attack, but I do know that Charlie has never betrayed you."

"Shawn, I'm warning you. Stay out of it," Monroe said, his words clipped.

"No, somebody needs to say it. You're paranoid and you're driving yourself crazy with it. I get it, we don't know who to trust and it's hard to believe he had so little help, but all of this was Connor. He lied to Matheson, you saw the letter yourself. If you're not careful, your own paranoia is going to cost you everything."

"I'm already losing everything. Because of that article, all aid from Texas has been suspended. Congress is debating whether or not to call in all the debt I owe them." He tossed the letter that Blanchard had sent with the article. "This was a friendly warning from Blanchard. Because of the attack and the fact that they found out I've been fucking my kid's ex, Congress is questioning my ability to lead and are afraid that the Republic won't recover. It's only a matter of time before the Tribunal comes to the same conclusions."

"But it wasn't her," Harris insisted. He loomed over Monroe, desperate to get through to him. "You really hurt her, Bass. She didn't deserve that from you. She's turned her life upside down to be here with you—to help you when no one else would. She's loved you enough to put up with your bullshit all these months. She deserves better than what you've just done to her."

With that, he stormed out of the room. As far as he was concerned, he was off duty for the rest of the day. He couldn't stomach the look of Monroe at the moment, let alone stand guarding over him. He immediately went to go check on Charlie. He'd left her crying in her quarters.

When he answered her muffled assent that he could enter, she was busy packing her things. "Don't go," he practically begged. "He was wrong and he'll see it when he calms down. He needs you now more than ever."

He took the time to explain the latest developments with Texas. Clearly she would see that the Republic collapsing was bigger than any one of them. Charlie shook her head sadly. "I can't help him anymore. He doesn't need me, he needs a fucking shrink. He's gone insane—he's every bit of the monster he was in Philly, and there's nothing I can say or do that will pull him out of it. I'm going home."

She went over to her desk and grabbed a folded piece of paper. "Give this to him for me? Just, make sure we're already gone before you do."

Harris sadly accepted it before leaving her to finish packing alone. He was halfway to his own quarters when he changed his mind. He stomped back over to Monroe's office, kicking the door open, and taking grim satisfaction in the fact that Monroe jumped a little at the sound.

"She's leaving you," he said. "You're not going to get another chance to stop her."

Monroe's heart broke. He wanted to go after her, but knew it wouldn't make any difference—that and the darkness inside of him was practically screaming that her flight only proved that she'd betrayed him. Determined that he'd survive the day at all costs, he shot out of his chair.

As always, his security detail was stationed just outside of the room. "Come with me," he told them as he headed across the compound with Harris following behind them. When they entered the main entrance of the residential side, he stopped.

He ordered two of his own personal guards to grab a few extra hands to collect Rachel and Miles. "Bring them to the main gate immediately."

He continued on, stopping just outside of Charlie's quarters. "See to it she's fully packed and at the main gate in the next fifteen minutes," he said before disappearing down the hallway.

He waited for them outside by the gate. When everyone was present and accounted for, he stared them down coldly. "Charlotte Matheson, you are stripped of your rank and are officially discharged from the militia. In other words—you're fired. Any claim you once had as next in line for the presidency has been revoked.

"Harris and his men will personally escort you all to the train station. I don't care where you go, as long as it's on the other side of the river. If you're ever caught within our borders, you'll be tried as spies and for your involvement on Connor's attack against the Republic."

Monroe narrowed his eyes at Charlie as he finished his cruel farewell. "I never want to lay eyes on anyone with the name Matheson again."

He turned away from them, heading back inside the compound. He didn't even want to see their reaction to his words—and he didn't want them to see him fall apart. It had taken everything he'd had to follow through with it and he didn't think he'd keep his resolve if the saw an ounce of regret from Charlie or Miles (he knew better than to think Rachel gave a tinkers damn about being ejected back to Texas).

He headed directly to the Tribunal's wing of the compound and barged into the chairman's office. "My son's trial begins tomorrow," he informed the man before fleeing to the privacy of his own quarters.

While Monroe hid himself away, Harris did as he was ordered. There hadn't been a train scheduled to depart, so they had to wait for one to take on coal and water. This departure would only carry the three unwelcomed guests as they made their way back to Texas.

"I'm so sorry," Harris told Charlie right before she boarded. "He's not himself right now, and he knows it. This is probably for the best. I know he doesn't want to see you hurt—you know it too."

Charlie gave him a hug. "Take care of yourself, okay? Shawn, I swear if he gets worse you'd better get the hell out of there. You can always come to Willoughby if you need to."

"I'm a big boy, I'll be just fine," he said sadly. "And don't worry; I'll take care of him for you."

Fighting the urge to cry again, Charlie nodded. "Thank you, Shawn." A quick hug later and she joined her family on the one passenger car that was hooked up to the engine. Harris stood on the platform until the train was gone from sight.

As the sun set in the west, Monroe sat on Charlie's bed. The room having grown dark, he raised the bottle he held to his lips and tried to drink the pain of the day away. Shortly after Charlie had stormed out of his office, he'd calmed down enough to look at everything from a different angle.

Of course, she hadn't leaked that story. He knew better, but the fact that his thoughts had immediately gone in that direction terrified him. It had been like watching himself through a foggy window as the peace and hope he'd felt over the past days had been torn from him.

He'd already made the decision to send her away before Harris had come to tell him she was planning to leave. She'd just made it easier. In the end, it didn't matter what he knew or believed. What mattered was the Republic and the people within it.

If Charlie remained in Nashville, it would only be seen as proof that the article had been right. He'd only shown her the newspaper, not Blanchard's letter. Congress suspected that she was involved in Connor's coup. If there was any hope of showing Texas that he could get things back under control, he couldn't have her by his side while he worked to stabilize the country.

He didn't know how he was going to do it without her, but he had no choice now. Besides all that was the fact that he knew what was happening to him—he knew who he was becoming. He didn't want her to see him that way. Who would? He'd only hurt her further. Today had only been accusations and a screaming match.

What would happen the next time? As soon as he'd come down from the high of his rage, he'd remembered what happened to the last person that was stupid enough to remain close to him during such a fit. Poor Jeremy had stayed with him through the bitter end, and where had that gotten him? No, it was better that she was gone and Miles right along with her.

He was more afraid for them than he was anything else. He finally accepted it—the darkness he'd been trying so hard to keep at bay was a part of him and he could only hold it back for so long. Once it took back over and he snapped, they'd only be in his blast radius. It was far kinder for them to be sent packing and hate him for it than it would be to hurt them when the General inside took him over.

Lost in these thoughts and in his own sorrow, he continued to drink until the room began to fade and the ceiling spun above him. He woke up the next day on the floor, having fallen off the bed as he'd passed out. The room was sweltering and the sun was high in the sky. He stayed on the floor until the events of the previous day came rushing back. Eventually he pulled himself together enough to get up and retreat to his own quarters to get cleaned up—his son's trial would already be under way…


	14. Final Nail In This Coffin Was Overdue

**A/N: The long awaited confrontation between father and son… **

"Leave us," Monroe commanded the guards that kept constant watch over the bank vault that had been converted into a jail cell for his son. If he'd learned anything from his capture in Texas, it was that banks made the perfect place to house the most dangerous of criminals.

The head guard fought the urge to protest. If only for the safety of their leader, he didn't want to leave, but the look on Monroe's face told him that any argument would not be taken lightly. Instead, he opened the vault and ordered his men to wait outside after making sure that his prisoner was securely chained to the wall.

Monroe stepped inside the vault. His son sat on the cot that had been brought in for his use, staring blankly ahead. "You've certainly made a mess of things."

Connor refused to acknowledge his presence. This was the first time that Monroe had seen him since the night of the attack. All things considered, his progeny didn't look all that worse for wear. When the young man didn't answer, Monroe got as close as he could while still remaining out of reach. "Did you really think you'd get away with it? That you could bring me down?"

His son responded by laughing. "I already did," he said as a smile spread across his face. "Look at you—if anything I'd say that everything has right according to plan."

"Says the guy that's just been convicted of treason," Monroe said as he leaned up against the wall, trying his best to feign a casualness that he didn't feel. "How was _that_ a part of the plan?"

Connor finally looked at him. "You're still living under the assumption that taking over the Republic was the point of it all. Don't get me wrong, had I actually been able to pull off killing you—and I almost did, I'd have taken it gladly. That was just plan B."

"Is that so? Well, in that case, enlighten me," Monroe said with a sweep of his hand.

Connor stood up then and shuffled forward as far as his chains would allow. "You're so stupid. This had nothing to do with the Republic and everything to do with you. Why else do you think I got Miles involved?"

"How else were you going to get out of Jasper and get into the compound?"

"Really?" Connor's smile got only bigger. "Please, I didn't need Miles. By the time I escaped, I had every soldier in Jasper convinced I was a model prisoner. And I had Levins, remember? He could have gotten me in without anyone the wiser. I got Miles involved because I knew it would wreck you—and I was right."

Monroe took an involuntary step back. "Why— so all of this was just to fuck with my head?"

Connor tapped a finger on his nose, the chains rattling as he moved. "Why else?"

"So that's why you went after her? Hurt Charlie to hurt me?"

"Hurt her? Oh, I really was going to kill her. I was going to take her away from you and watch you cry over her body. That's the _only_ part of this that didn't work out."

"I thought you used to care about her," Monroe felt the bile rise to his throat and had to swallow it back down.

"You what?" Connor doubled over with laughter. "The only reason I ever went there in the first place was so that you wouldn't. I saw those sad puppy dog looks you gave her when no one was looking."

Monroe's jaw dropped and it took him several minutes to wrap his brain around what he'd just been told. "How could you do that? I _loved_ her."

"She was a distraction. You dragged me from my home with a promise of a nation. Your feelings for her would have just gotten in the way; the Mathesons would have just talked you out of it, so I fucked her so you wouldn't."

Connor actually had to pause to wipe tears of mirth from his eyes. "I guess it didn't work. As I said that night, you apparently have no problem with sloppy seconds."

Monroe retreated again, not stopping until his back was against the wall once more. The cold mask of indifference he'd worn when first coming into the vault had crumbled to pieces. "And the article?"

"Read something you didn't like?" He almost giggled in satisfaction. "I _migh_t have made friends with that grunt from the Austin Times that came to town before you had me banished to Jasper. He got the scoop of the century weeks before the attack. Granted, that Bonnie Webster bitch is pretty much on the up and up. She'll figure it out soon enough that he and I wrote history before it happened; eventually she'll write a retraction and blah, blah blah. Not that it'll matter much. By the looks of you, the damage is already done."

For the first time, Monroe saw the full extent of the darkness inside his son. At first, he'd thought him to be a violent and power hungry thug, sick in his inherited obsession for control. This was something else entirely. It was as if the kid was pure evil. "I'm your father. All I ever wanted was to make up for not being there; to protect you. What have I ever done to make you hate me this much?"

"You existed. You ruined my life just by breathing. If it hadn't been for you, I'd have never been sent to Mexico. If it wasn't for you, my mom would still be alive." He spat at his father's feet in disgust. "You took everything from me, and then you had to show up in Puesta del Sol and do it all over again. I was happy; I'd have had the entire cartel under me in just a few years."

Monroe shook his head. His eyes stung, but for the moment, he didn't care. "No, Connor. Nunez never would have let you take over; he'd have eventually killed you. I just wanted to get you out of there before he had the chance. I'm so sorry I ever promised this to you—it wasn't right and I should have left well enough alone. I see that now."

"No, you should have bowed out and given me what you promised. At least then I could have stomached the sight of you. God, you're so pathetic. You just wanted to protect me? I didn't need your protection. I didn't need you. I already had a father and you made me betray him. If I had to do it all over again, I'd have just kept whipping you until you bled to death.

"But, seeing as how I can't go back in time, well this was the next best thing. When Blanchard's rivals approached me, I was only too happy to comply."

"What?"

Connor grinned again. "You know _Dad,_ rumor has it that you've been driving yourself insane trying to figure all of this out. There _was_ a conspiracy, but not where you think. Maybe you should talk to your little buddy in Austin."

Monroe was unable to move. Frozen to that spot, he was mind whirled around his son's vile words and what he was insinuating about Texas. He shut his eyes and tried to pull himself together. Out of self-preservation he conjured up the stony façade he'd worn for so many years. It was all he had left.

Once he composed himself, his eyes popped open and he stared his son down. "Connor Bennett, you've been found guilty of treason and attempted murder. You will die for your crimes; the Tribunal has already decided on the sentence and I will not interfere on your behalf. You may share my blood, but you are _not_ my son—not anymore."

With that he turned and left the vault. He nodded to the guards that stood outside the bank with his security detail. With his men surrounding him, he walked across town, back to the compound, ignoring the occasional greeting he received from the people he ruled over. Although he had not often left the compound since setting up the capital here, most of the denizens of Nashville had always seemed happy to see him when he did. Now, they seemed scared.

Monroe tracked down his secretary, handing him the signed warrant. "Get this to the Tribunal. I want this over with by this time tomorrow."

Late that night, Harris found him standing on the balcony on the second floor of the wing he once shared with Charlie. "You okay?"

Monroe took a drink from the bottle he held loosely in his fingers. He shook his head sadly, his cheeks wet and shining in the light from the torches he insisted stay lit on the balcony now that they knew it was indeed possible to scale it. "I signed the warrant," was all he said. "I just sentenced my own kid to death."

"I heard," Harris replied, feeling bad for him. He watched as Monroe dug something out of his pocket. It was a letter from Frank Blanchard. The first one had apparently taken its time on the way from Austin. The second one had arrived shortly thereafter.

"Congress has voted. I've got until year's end to make good on the debt we owe. If I don't, they'll consider it a deliberate default. It could lead to war."

Harris' heart sank. "Let me send for Charlie. She'll have almost made it home by now. You need her here. She can help you figure out a way to pay Texas; we can find a way to make this right together."

"It's over, Shawn. There's no way to do it, and even if she was willing to help still—which I doubt, I can't face her. Not after what Connor told me today." Monroe repeated the gist of his conversation with his son. "I played right into his hands. I let my own son destroy anything good I had left in me. He didn't do this to take over; he just did it because he hated me. He won after all—I'm the fucking monster she used to accuse me of being and everything's falling apart."

"You're not a monster. And we can still fix this." Harris argued.

"No, Miles was right—I'm too far gone now. That's why Connor got what he wanted; I made it too easy for him." He continued to nurse his bottle and look out into the darkness over the city. "I'd like to be alone now," he said quietly, sending his last friend away so he could grieve in peace.


End file.
